Dark City
by Maugan Ra
Summary: Commaragh, the dark city, Home of the Dark Eldar, is generally agreed to be a living hell. One brave guardsman is about to find out just how true the stories are when he tries to fight against a dark eldar raid and ends up their prisoner.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

The work of a Devil

Commorragh. The dark city. Home of the piratical dark eldar, their last refuge from She who Thirsts. The city in the webway. Towering dark spires stabbed towards the ceiling, their pitch black frames covered in sculptures of leering faces, snarling monsters and humans screaming in horror. Every tower was connected to its fellows by an intricate latticework of arched bridges, adorned with decaying corpses and skeletons swinging from rusty, knotted chains. Between the bridges floated humming illumination globes, their weak lighting bathing the entire city in a mixture of blood-red light and dark patches of twilight. Scurrying figures hurried across stained boulevards and twisting alleyways, seeking to conduct their business as swiftly as possible. Staying out for too long in the dark city was tantamount to suicide. Flitting shapes filled the air, ranging from the sleek luxury transports that only the upper echelon could afford, to the one-man sky boards ridden by the near-insane hellions, who every now and then would dive sharply down to sever a limb or head from some passer by, cackling madly as they bathed in the blood of their victims. From some of the towers, sounds of hideous screaming sawed through the air, the haemonculus competing with each other to extract the loudest screams from the poor unfortunates captured on the many slave raids mounted daily from the ports to the west. And, from one particular area, the sound of a street battle reverberated.

Khulan Blade-fist, warrior of the great Vect and Arch-dracon of the Kabal of the Black Heart, fired his splinter pistol and watched in satisfaction as the lithe form of one of the enemy warriors crumpled, his blood pouring out of the gaping hole in his neck once occupied by his jugular vein. All around him, his incubi bodyguard hacked their way through the press of enemy bodies, their fearsome punishers bathing the area in the harsh white light from their energised blades and their tormentor helms spitting streams of splinter fire at the enemy. Their matt black armour clicked as they moved, and the gold rims that denoted their Kabal were almost obscured from sight by the clotted blood and gore. Overhead, the shrieking of engines filled the air as reaver jet bikes and hellions duelled, their intense aerial ballet mesmerizing in its complexity, and every time a warrior miss-stepped, another ruptured corpse would fall broken to the ground. On the convoluted bridges volleys of splinter-fire whipped back and forth, both sides seeking to drive each other away and claim this stretch of street for their Kabal. On the ground level, things were much more intense as the combat troops slaughtered each other in the narrow alleyways. But, no matter how close the battle seemed, Khulan knew that the Black Heart would soon be victorious. He had only deigned to drag the fight out this long to make sure that all the enemy were fighting. Lord Vect had demanded a complete massacre of all the upstarts who had dared lay claim to this portion of the Black Heart's territory, and Khulan was only too happy to comply. Deciding that the enemy was not, in fact, concealing any hidden strengths at this stage, he raised his gauntlet to his face and flicked open the communicator on his wrist. Speaking in the guttural tongue that the Kabal used for secret transmissions, he said two words. Just two.

" Finish this"

Immediately, the battle took on a new and deadly phase. As one, all the Black Heart jet bikes spun in the air and raced off. The enemy Hellions started to give chase. Black darts fell from the air, spreading leathery wings and swinging around large cannons to bear on the sky-board riders. With a shriek, the scrouges opened fire. All of the Hellions were cut down within a few seconds by the splinter cannons and their battered corpses tumbled limply to the ground, spinning like leaves in the wind. On the walkways, all the Black Heart warriors put up their rifles and ran for it, retreating back inside the towers. Their opponents yelled in triumph and poured across the walkways in a living tide. It was to be their last mistake, ever. With a shrieking of engines, the raiders of the Cult of Pain fell on them. Leaping from the hovering raiders, the cult's wyches fell into the warriors and began to put their gladiatorial equipment to what they had been trained from birth to do, butchering. Blood rained from the sky, pouring in thick streams from the bridges and Khulan bathed in it, tasting the delicious souls that flowed down past him. In the streets, the incubi withdrew along with the rest of the Kabal and cleared the way for the re-enforcements. Like avatars of death, two Talos floated out from a side street and powered down the body-strewn lane towards the enemy. Each resembling giant metallic scorpions, the flying monstrosities crashed into the Dark elder and ripped them to bloody rags with scything claws and whipping tails, spraying blood in liberal quantities all across the street. Khulan clearly saw one of them gentle pick up an enemy warrior and brutally impale him on the spikes jutting from its hull. The poor fool would remain there for days, slowly having his life force leached from him by the daemonic construct. The nerve of the rest of the warriors broke and they fled down the street, their lithe forms easily outpacing the lumbering death machines. Seeing this, the incubi on Khulans left raised his weapon, sighting it on the back of one of the fleeing warriors. Khulan raised his hand and firmly pushed the barrel down. The incubi looked at him and, even behind the expressionless white mask, Khulan could see his confusion. In a voice like oil, Khulan explained. The incubi nodded and watched with a great deal of interest as the fleeing warriors reached an area hidden from the light globes and thus bathed in shadows. All forty or so warriors ran into the shadows and became the slightest hint of silhouettes. With a sudden flurry of movement, half a dozen extra shadows appeared and slashed at the warriors. All the Incubi could see was a shifting flurry of movement until a single warrior stepped back out of the shadows, his pale face drawn into a rictus of horror and pain. The tottering warrior advanced a few more steps before falling over, face down. Despite the distance between them, Khulan could clearly see the long, serrated blade protruding from his back. Then he saw the thing that had killed him. Pacing calmly out of the shadows, the six mandrakes seemed to drag the shadows with them. Most of them stopped at the limit of the shadows, but their leader, the one with the most severed skulls hanging from his belt, walked right up to Khulan and handed him a small piece of armour. Khulan took it in one clawed hand and examined it. He laughed, and even the mandrake blanched before the horrible sound. Looking at the mandrake, Khulan raised his free hand and lightly touched his brow, the closest a dark elder ever came to expressing respect.

" Congratulations. You and your brethren have the gratitude of the Black Heart, and also the pick of any loot."

The mandrake hissed softly in acknowledgment and walked away. Still chuckling quietly, Khulan turned and walked off, heading in the direction of the city centre, and his meeting with Lord Vect.


	2. First act

Promotion and assignment 

Khulan piloted the skimmer back to the Black Heart central territories. As he passed by overhead he saw numerous checkpoints guarded by men in the livery of the Palace guard, the security at each growing more and more intense as he approached the main spire. Clearly Lord Vect was taking no chances with a reprisal raid. Not that anyone would dare attack them here, in the heartland of Black Heart territory. Khulan knew that even here, at the outskirts, at the sound of a single alarm the street would be flooded with over two score warriors in a matter of seconds. Never-the-less, the warriors at each checkpoint immediately shouldered their weapons and saluted as he passed by, the distinctive embellishments on the skimmer telling them that it belonged to a high ranking Dracon. Not that they respected him because of rank, but because anybody who rose to a position of power within Dark Elder 'society' had to be a ferocious warrior. Eventually he arrived at the base of the main spire. Over two hundred stories high, the seat of Black Heart power was unique in the fact that it was completely devoid of any bridges to the nearby buildings. This meant that anybody approaching the tower had to enter by the ground entrance. An aerial attack wasn't an option either, as every five levels a balcony spanned the entire circumference, festooned with splinter cannon turrets and patrolled by incredibly well equipped warriors. Khulan drew up the skimmer and dismounted several metres from the gates, determined not to let an ambitious underling an excuse to 'accidentally' shoot him. Striding towards the overhanging archway, he could almost feel the crosshairs of at least twenty different weapons focused on his chest. Reaching the main entranceway, he didn't bother to join the queue for the transports, instead he turned right and dipped into a secluded alcove. Reaching into a pocket on his legs, he drew out a thin wafer of human bone, painstakingly engraved with a series of complicated runes and slid it into a small slot on the side of the alcove. The seemingly featureless stretch of wall in front of him slid away and he stepped into the private lift. The doorway slid shut again and he casually flicked off a speck of blood off his nail before pushing a small rune sculpted from bone and set at the top of the control panel. With a whirr of anti-grav engines the lift started to ascend dramatically. While he waited he contemplated what consequences his actions might hold for the Kabal. The Blooded Fang had been small, and by now the other Kabals were surely taking advantage of its weakened state to rip it to pieces, but it was rumoured that their move into that stretch of the city was commanded by the Archon of another, much more dangerous, Kabal. If that were the case, then this mysterious Archon would surely be stepping up his offensive soon, in an attempt to discredit the Black Heart. For, in Commaragh, although the Black Heart was too powerful to be brought down by any of the other Kabals on their own, all it would take was for some outsider group to win a few victories against them and the other Kabals would think they could too, and the Black Heart would be torn apart by the vengeful jackals. He shook his head. Nothing the Kabal couldn't handle.

Orax research station 

_Planet Fulmer VI_

_06:00_

Sergeant Cannis was sitting on the station wall-top, watching the sunrise, when the call came through. Fulmar VI had a huge sun, twice the size of Terra's, and the planet was pushing on the very inner limit of the systems habitable zone. As a result, it was one of the harshest desert worlds in existence. It had no trees, precious few minerals and only one type of even remotly edible animal, the dune-lizard, which, he had on good opinion, was tough and leathery. The place had a spectacular sunrise, though. The only reason the Imperium had a prescence here at all was because a few months back an adeptus mechanicus ship had discovered a veritable horde of elder technology about a mile underground in a cave warren. Far more interesting to the Guard though, was that the survey team had found what appeared to be a functioning entrance to the webway, albiet locked at the moment. Within a week, Cannis and the rest of his regiment, the 132nd Hyraken's, had been deployed to this featureless ball of rock along with a full division of Mechanium adepts and their servitor slaves. They had been holed up for over a week in the caverns beneath the simple base that the Hyrakans had set up over the entrance to the cave system, studying the alien artifacts, aparently. Of course, it helped that the adepts and their servants had no need of rest or relaxation. Dragging his mind back to the present, he raised his hand to his ear and activated the small vox-link there.

" Command, this is five, at the south entrance. What is it?"

There was a few seconds pause before the vox crackled and the gravelly tones of Commisar Flinn came on the line.

" Sergeant, we need you and your squad down in the gateway chamber ASAP. The adepts think that they can activate the gateway soon but the chief priest has warned me that something may come through. I need fifth squad down here in case something goes wrong."

" Understood sir. We'll be there in ten."

"Rodger sergeant. Flinn out"

Cannis rolled over onto his back and artfully fell off the wall, landing squarly in the middle of a card game that most of his squad was playing in the shadow of the wall. Cards and dice went flying everywhere and all of the players threw themselves backwards onto their buts. They all made various comments about the activities of his mother and various other female relatives. Grinning broadly, he adressed his men.

"C'mon boys. Flinn wants us down in the main chamber in case something nasty appears. Gather the rest of the squad and lets get moving."

Still muttering a stream of obsceneties under their breaths, the squad started to get to their feet, picking up their lasguns and backpacks. Despite the verbal abuse, all of his squad trusted him, respected him, just like he respected and trusted them. Five years together generally created that sort of bond in a millitary organisation. Of course, it helped that he had saved each of their lives at least once, and they had saved his far too many times to count. Within two minutes the entire platoon was assembled before him, twenty-four men and women armed with their regiment's signature torrax-class lascarbines. Grinning broadly, he waved them forwards and they marched into the shadowy cave entrance.

_Commaragh_

Khulan finally arrived at the throne room level, the lift gradually slowing down until it hissed to a stop with barely a jolt and the door slid open. He immediately found a crackling power-glaive levelled at his throat, the coruscating energies tickling his skin and irritating his already annoyed mood. A second Incubi strode up to him and scanned him with a handheld DNA tracker. Almost immediately a small green light pinged on at the top of the device and both Incubi backed away, leaving him free to advance into the main chamber. Once he passed through the twenty-foot tall gates, fashioned out of bone-shaped adamantium, even he lowered his head in respect. Lord Asdrubael Vect, Archon of the Black Heart and master of all Commaragh, clapped slowly as he entered. His voice, oily slick with an undertone of cold steel, echoed throughout the chamber.

" Congratulations, Dracon. The reports say that the entirety of the Blooded Fang has been wiped out. Your Archon is pleased."

" I live to serve your will, My Lord."

Vect spoke again, and this time his voice contained an unmistakable hint of genuine curiousity.

" I'm curious Dracon. In my experience, almost all Dracons would have, after such a resounding victory, tried to take over the Kabal for themselves. Yet you seem to be genuinely loyal. Why have you not tried to assassinate me by now?"

Khulan almost laughed. Almost.

" My Lord, while your position would be very nice to have, attempting to overthrow or assainate you is suicide. No'Kaei tried to overthrow you and failed miserably even with several million slaves to her credit, and if I made a hostile move, I have no doubt that I would be dead before I even reached you. Plus, I quite enjoy the perks that go with the position."

Vect did laugh, and no matter what Khulan tried, he could not help but shiver at the sound.

" Ah, the perks. Well, in view of your success, I am promoting you. You are now second in command of the Black Heart and, as your first act, I suggest that you assemble a raiding party. My sources tell me that the mon-keigh are trying to open a portal in the Fulmar system. That means that they will most likely have only a token protection at a research station and a lot of unarmed 'scientists'. You know what to do."

Khulan did. Without a word, he rose and left the hall, already plotting as to how to organise the attack. This was going to be fun.

Well, that is the second instalment to this story. Soon, the slave raid will take place, and Cannis will be in big trouble. Until then, Bye!


	3. This is bad, Very bad

Hi there. A big thanks to Ben, Extartius and Riddleindisguise for their reviews. Oh, Ben, at the moment no, there is not a planned coup. At least for the moment. Well, here's the next chapter.

Prisoner 

Cannis double-timed it down the narrow passageway, stopping every now and then to make sure that the rest of his squad were keeping up. A few of them had paused, pointing their lasguns down a narrow passageway to one side. He crossed to them and could immediately see what was worrying them. A giant dragon like lizard was crouched just a few feet from them, flicking its narrow tongue in and out and growling softly. He could clearly see the serrated teeth jutting out from its maw, gleaming in the light of the mining lamps hung on the walls. With a nonchalant shrug he aimed his lasgun and shot the lizard through the head. It slumped to the floor and they carried on. Eventually they arrived in the main chamber. It was fashioned out of some kind of glowing white substance, which the adepts said was wraithbone. At one end of the chamber, two white arches stretched up from the floor, looking for all the world as though they had been grown instead of built, and between them stretched a filmy substance that looked like glowing blue plastic. At the moment a small red rune glowed threateningly from the apex of the arch, and he knew that the seemingly fragile blue screen was completely impenetrable. He strode the length of the chamber and joined the gaggle of tech-priests and upper echelon command staff grouped around commissar Flinn. They seemed to be arguing.

" Commissar, while I agree that there is some danger in operating old artefacts, forcing us to wait for a group of filthy dogsbodys is hardly going to make it safer."

Cannis walked softly up behind the administrator who had voiced that comment and placed the muzzle of his lasgun against the back of the fool's neck. He looked over at the commissar.

" Sir, permission to deploy my filthy dogsbodys around the room?"

The commissar grinned and nodded. Cannis lowered the pistol and snorted in amusement as the administrator sank to his knees shaking. He waved his men forwards. They spread out around the room, with the exception of the two flame troopers who stood on either side of the entrance, as their deadly weapons could not be risked in such a close quarters environment. The senior adept walked forwards and stood by the gate. Well, _walked _was probably the wrong word, as the tech-priest was so completely covered in various bionics that he more _clinked _than walked. Satisfying himself that everything was in order, the adept turned around and fiddled with something on the side of the gateway. With a light '_pop' _the blue covering fell away from the gate, revealing the webway itself through a blue fog. Cannis waved his hand and the guardsmen shouldered their weapons, satisfied that there was nothing dangerous present. Flinn strode forwards and strode in front of it before addressing the adept.

" Congratulations, sir. This is a monumental day in mankind's history. We are finally going to be able to rival the eldar in their mastery of the warp, and fight them on our own terms. "

The adept scratched his mechanical head and looked at Flinn, the expression on his usually blank face twisted in puzzlement. This immediately cut short Flinn's speech and he looked at the priest in confusion.

" Adept, what's… what's wrong?"

The harsh noises of the tech-priests voice box still managed to sound concerned, despite the monotonous tone.

" Commissar, that… that wasn't me. I didn't do anything. Something on the other side must have…"

Even before the Adept was finished, Cannis was raising his weapon. He was too late. Much, much too late.

Something came out of the portal and ripped Commissar Flinn in two.

Cold water splashed on Cannis' face and he jerked his way back to consciousness. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. A devil was leaning over him. It was wearing a bone white mask and its eyes glowed bright red. Every few seconds a cloud of hot steam sprayed out from a grill near where a human's mouth would be and eveloped his head. Satisfied that he was awake, the thing pulled back out of his line of sight. Cannis tried to twist his head to follow it but it wouldn't move. From somewhere above him came a harsh, metallic voice that he recognised as an alien speaking through a translator.

"Do not bother trying to move, mon-keigh. You have been drugged. You belong to us, now."

Cannis felt cold panic seize his mind. Mon-keigh… that was the Eldar term for humans. So that meant… he had… he had been taken prisoner by the Dark Eldar. Oh, shit. Shit shit shit shit SHIT! This was bad. Very, VERY bad. He's heard the stories, of course, but he never thought he would get a chance to verify them. A slave of the Dark Eldar was just about the worst fate it was possible to suffer. He looked up at the ceiling, because that was all he really could do. It was a hazy blue in colour but beyond it he could see the faintest impression of rolling waves, only the colours and the dimensions were all wrong. The impossible image was giving him a headache so he closed his eyes. From the faint humming in the background and the tramp of metal-shod feet, he figured that the raiders were escorting them back through the webway, and that he was strapped to some kind of anti-grav transport. Something cold and sharp pierced his neck and he fell backwards into unconsciousness.

Well, that's the end of the third chapter. Please review with any ideas as to what I should put the poor guy through. Remember, it's the dark elder, so nothing is too sadistic. Oh , and general reviews are welcome.


	4. In the Arena

Commaragh

The first thing Cannis saw when he woke up was corporal Wheln leaning over him. The mans face was creased with worry and the old scar running down one cheek did not make his face a pretty one, but anything was preferable to waking up to that Eldar bastard.

"How are you feeling sir?"

Cannis tried to speak, but his throat was raw and all that came out was a string of unintelligible rasps. Wheln understood immediately and passed his commander a bottle. The water tasted foul and metallic in his mouth, but it was water. Cannis rubbed his head.

"How long was I out?"

Wheln grinned, but there was no mirth in it.

"Longer than the rest of us? About an hour. Since the chamber? God-emperor knows."

With a grunt Cannis pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the screaming pain in his joints. He looked around, noticing that at least twenty other people inhabited the cell with them. There were two others from his platoon, Roberts and Ship, but the rest were an equal mix of just about every other type of race imaginable. There were even a pair of stocky forms hunched in one corner that had to be Tau. The cell itself was a squat block of cold stone, with jagged metal spikes protruding from the walls at regular intervals at around head hight, each holding at set of clinking chains. One wall had a dark metal hatch in it, obviously the only access, and there was a single window in the opposite wall. His memories were flowing randomly through his head, but he could clearly remember the chamber. He could remember watching Flinn's ruptured corpse fall to the ground, remember the lithe black shapes as they tore five of his men to bloody scraps. Remember firing his lasgun on full-auto and watching the xenos sway around the shots with impossible grace. He remembered seeing what could only be the eldar leader, an indistinct shape hidden by a swirling cloud of pure shadow, and he remembered placing his las-gun against the things temple as it hoisted Cisky up on the end of its long bladed sword and pulling the trigger. And, dear god-emperor, he remembered the dry coughing sound the spent gun made, and that single, futile shot he had wasted on the lizard. That lizard which must surely be laughing now.

Cannis' regrets were interrupted as the metal hatch irised open and a devil stepped through. The eldar was at least seven foot tall and willow thin, but its slight frame was packed with muscle. It was sheathed in a tight, form-fitting grey armor and a stylized black heart stared out from every greave, shoulder pad and plate. Its eyes were thin and twilight black, completely devoid of pupils and irises, and its flesh had an unhealthy greenish tinge. Clipped near its throat was a small metallic box which he guessed was a translator. The thing was well armed too, with an exotic looking pistol holstered at its waist and a long curved dagger in a sheath strapped across its back. The thing raised one clawed hand to the box on its neck and depressed a small icon. It spoke quietly, alien words flowing like oil but with an unmistakable taste of steel. After a few seconds pause the translator spat out a string of words in low gothic, the plebeian tongue used by the imperium's massive lower caste population.

" Greetings humans. This is Commaragh, Dark City. You belong to Black Heart now. I am Jailer Kaboth."

One of the tau stood up, its long beige robes marking it as a member of the worker-caste, obviously taken on a different raid a while ago, and addressed the jailer with all the slight remnants of pride and indignation that could survive an extended stay in the Dark City, haltingly using low gothic as a medium so that the eldar would understand.

" I Fio'vre Bolan, of Vash'ya sept. You must release me. You have no right to this. Take me back and your species may still be able to integrate itself with the great and noble Tau emp..."

Without seeming to draw a weapon, the jailer flicked his long, clawed fingers at the tau. Fio-vre Bolan raised one hesitant hand to the blade sticking out of his throat and opened his mouth slightly in protest, but all that came out was a faint gurgle. The tau sank gently to its knees and pitched over onto its side, its cyan blue blood pouring out down its beige robes, rendering them an odd shade of brown-grey. The rest of the prisoners watched this display without comment, trying to understand the concept of their new 'ownership'. The jailer shook its head and emitted a short string of sounds that could only be tutting.

"Tau are so annoying. Very arrogant. This be lesson to rest of you. We own you. We may dispose of you. Now move. You wanted in arena."

A trio of other eldar, armed with long barreled rifles, walked into the cells. They ushered the prisoners out of the cell, stabbing those who seemed reluctant in the arms. Stumbling and swearing the guardsmen hauled themselves to their feet. Cannis glared at the jailer, fixing his face in his mind, just in case the opportunity for revenge arose. The eldar caught the look and grinned maliciously. Then it strode away, fading into the corridor shadows as the guards herded them down the opposite passage.

Khulan reclined in his seat, stretching his arms out and working out all the chinks in his muscles. He was still wearing his armour, as only a fool would atain a position of his current rank and leave himself completely vulnerable to a surprise assassination attempt. He took a sip from the crystal glass on the side table, remembering how he had 'acquired' it from the household of a human planetary governor. Also how the first drink he had had out of it had been when he drained said governor of his blood and drank that. He was just trying to distract himself, he knew. In truth, he was still badly shaken from his brush with she-who-thirsts. Humans would say a brush with death, but for an eldar, simple death would be a blessing. The humans could believe that when they died they would go to their 'emperor's' side, but all eldar knew that, unless they could acquire a soul-stone, their soul would be devoured by she-who-thirsts. Or Slannesh, as the mon-keigh knew her. So of course, when that human sergeant had so nearly killed him, it had been rather too close for comfort. Still, that human was their prisoner now and he would severely regret it.

He was jolted rudely out of his reverie by the faint bleeping made by his comunit. He pressed a small button on the edge of his chair and the opposite wall flickered, before morphing into the face of jailer Kaboth. Khulan leaned towards the viewscreen and scowled lightly.

" Jailer. I asked not to be disturbed."

The jailer scowled lightly, unused to such disrespect, before he replied.

" I apologise, Dracon. I just thought you might like to know that that newest set of prisoners that you brought in have been recruited for the arena by succubus Driloth. They will be appearing in the sparring matches in a few hours."

Khulan scratched his chin reflectively. It would certainly be gratifying to see that insolent mon-keigh who almost killed him cut to peices by the wyches. He waved idly at the jailer in acceptance and the screen morphed back into the original faceless facade. His mind made up, he strode over to the doorway, pausing only to pick up the small disk that allowed him access to all of the Black Hearts resources. You never knew.

Cannis swiped at the guard who was prodding him in the back with a bayonet fixed to the end of his rifle before bending over to help Roberts to his feet. The man had tripped on some hidden obstacle and was sprawled on the floor. Taking hold of one arm he tried to haul the guy to his feet, but Roberts was a dead weight. His comrades head lolled lifelessly and Cannis stared in horror at the gaping wound that had been torn in the guardsman's face. One of the eldar guards noticed it too and cursed viciously before firing off a salvo of rounds along the floor. Cannis threw himself out of the way just in time to avoid being gutted and picked himself up in time to see something coiled and scaly slink away into the shadows. It would seem that the dark city held more predators than just the eldar. Letting the corpse drop, Cannis tried very hard not to wonder about how much time he had left before someone or something took his life too. He carried on walking and caught up with the others in the group. They entered a huge room that sloped gently up to a massive set of doors in one wall. Around the other three walls were an array of benches, each covered with a variety of melee weapons.

" You see," came an anonymous voice from the group in front, " that, I do not like the look of."

Cannis felt inclined to agree. He was reasonably skilled with a blade, but they were obviously going to face trained gladiators for the amusement of whatever crowd awaited them. Maybe even some of the infamous wyches, too. He waved Ship and Wheln over to him and together they gathered around one of the benches. Wheln was the first to speak as he hefted a giant mace.

" Well, this can only get worse."

Cannis made a noncommittal sound in his throat and gave a few practice whirls of a sword before sheathing it in a belt that they had all been provided with. Wheln decided that the mace was too unwieldy and put it down before replacing it with a pair of well sharpened kukhris. Ship tossed a throwing dagger up and down in one hand before casting an assessing eye over the rest of the group.

" What do you reckon of this lot sarge?"

Cannis looked over at where the rest of the prisoners had congregated. Some of them looked vaguely competent and were testing several of the blades for balance and ability, while the others just cowered up against one wall, most with looks on their faces that suggested they were trying to convince themselves that none of this was happening. Cannis spotted one man though who looked very dangerous, wielding a pair of long sabres like they were extensions of his body. The guardsmen called him over and Wheln shook his hand.

" You look like you actually know what you're doing. How's about we stick together out there? "

The unknown man scratched his chin reflectively, trying to decide whether he stood greater chance of surviving with these strange men. He nodded.

" Agreed. I'm Pollo. I used to be a bodyguard on Necromunda, so I know what I'm doing. You?"

Cannis, Wheln and Ship introduced themselves before they all turned to face the huge metal gateway. As if on cue, the portal ground open, and the ruddy twilight of Commaragh streamed in, punctured by the bright white light of high powered floodlights. The guards walked forwards and, with fist and blade, herded the prisoners out into the arena.

Khulan settled himself into the comfortable seat that took pride of place in his private box. In the arena below, handlers were busy clearing away the deterius of the last battle, shoveling body-parts into large bins and sprinkling sand over the bloodstains. As soon as they left the arena floor, one of the huge sets of metal doors creaked open and out tumbled a large crowd of about twenty humans, each armed with an assortment of weapons. The opposite portal opened and out strode three wyches, glad in their scanty gladiatorial gear and holding their weapons with a lot more competence than the mon-keigh.

Khulan noticed that while most of the slaves seemed relieved to find out that they had such a large numerical advantage, one group of four separated off from the main crowd and seemed infinitely more wary. They were really quite wise. With a start, Khulan recognized the warrior who seemed to be leading them. It was that infernal guardsman from the chamber.

Cannis and the other three held their weapons ready. Everyone had been surprised to see the limited numbers of their opponents, but while the rest of the prisoners felt relief, Cannis and his men grew even more cautious. These warriors had to be exrememly skilled to be so calmly taking on opponents that outnumbered them seven to one. Their fears were soon justified. With a great shout, about six of the front few prisoners sprinted forwards, swinging their weapons wildly. The wyches broke step, expertly dodging so that all of the charges momentum was wasted and, while their opponents were distracted trying to stop, attacked. The long handled blades of the gladiators scissored in, completely bypassing the meagre defence that their surprised opponents could offer and completely dismembered the overconfident fools. The bodies completely fell apart, weapons clattering to the floor and the wyches strode on towards the main group.

Khulan grinned maliciously, pleased at the performance put on by the wyches. These humans were really only a warm up, to prepare the wyches for the far more challenging matches against other eldar later, but they still slaughtered their opponents with every ounce of their skill. He watched as the trio tore into the ten remaining fools, who were now gripped with panic at the sight of the others being so neatly slaughtered and trying to flee. The gladiators shredded them, neatly disarming then decapitating each, before turning their attentions to the final four. The competent four. Then the impossible happened. As the wyches closed on their prey, one of the humans lunged forwards. The frontal wych raised one blade casually to block but, acting with a speed Khulan had believed impossible for the lumpen mon-keigh, the human re-directed his attack, angling his twin sabres first down and then up, avoiding the parry and planting both blades deep in the wyches chest. The dracon leaned forwards. This just got interesting.

Cannis felt a faint hope stir in his chest as Pollo killed the first wych, before he focused again. The remaining two gladiators had split left and right and were now circling the group with a far greater amount of wariness. With a swift jerk of his head, Cannis sent Pollo and Wheln after one while he and ship took on the other. The wych, male, Cannis saw, leapt at them,spinning a pair of serrated blades with great skill. Wheln took a glancing blow to his head and fell, while Cannis parried desperately with his one blade. The wych was too fast and, within a few seconds, had opened up a series of shallow cuts on his arms. Cannis realised that, no matter how hard he tried, he could never kill this opponent. Not in a million years. So, in sheer desperation, he did the only thing he could think of. Giving ground, he drew the eldar in closer. A fumbled parry and he jumped back, slashing wildly with all hope apparently gone. As he had hoped, the eldar, sensing victory, over-extending himself in a lunge to finish off this impudent mon-keigh. Cannis brought his knee sweeping round and planted it firmly in the eldars groin. The wych staggered back, eyes bulging in pain and sheer disbelief and Cannis stepped forwards, neatly looping off his head. He looked down at the headless corpse and shrugged in apology. Honour had no place in the dark city.

Turning, he helped Ship to his feet, realising that that whole exchange could only have taken seconds at most. He was sweating as though he had been duelling for hours. The man staggered to his feet and they turned to the other combat, just in time to see the last wych finished off by a brilliant synchronised scissor manoeuvre from Pollo and Wheln that no one could dodge. Pollo had a nasty gash down one arm and Wheln had acquired a second scar for his face but otherwise they were unharmed. Cannis himself checked himself over, finding a single gash across his side that he didn't remember receiving, and Ship was mildly concussed and covered in blood from his scalp wound. All in all, they had got off almost scot free. Cannis turned to the crowd, who were perfectly silent. He grinned. It was understandable. After all, they had just witness four slaves take down three highly trained and experienced gladiators. It would have been theatrical to spit or throw his weapon away, but trying theatrics here would almost certainly get them killed. Turning away, they left the stadium. The guards let them go, pointing them back to their cells.

Khulan arched his fingers in contemplation .He had to admit, it had been an impressive display. Those four would soon be famous. And that meant that they would either be bought be some other wealthy representative here or they would be pitted against vicious opponents until they were dead. No, Khulan decided, this he could not allow. He pressed a small button on the arm of his chair and summoned Jailer Kaboth. When the man arrived, Khulan waved for him to sit.

" Tell me, Jailer, have any other dracons expressed an interest in those slaves?"

The Jailer grinned, already anticipating where this was going.

" Yes, sir. I have had a number of offers for different ones. Why?"

" I will pay you ten thousand chits for the four of them. Have them delivered to my apartment within the hour."

Kaboth grinned widly. Ten thousand chits was a lot more than he had ever hoped to make out of those slaves, no matter how famous.

" Certainly, my lord. A pleasure doing business with you.

_There you go. Sorry that it has taken such a long time to update, no excuses really. This is possibly the longest chapter I've yet written. Thanks very much to ben and Extarius for their reviews, I've tried to correct my style. All other reviews are, of course, welcome. I would particuarly like any comments on how I did describing the fight._

_Maugen Ra_


	5. Purchased

Chapter 5 

Purchased

The grating of the cell door jolted Cannis from his slumber. After the fight they had been escorted back to their cells by a full dozen armed guards, before being forced to surrender their weapons at gunpoint. After seeing what happened to Roberts, they had decided that simply dropping off to sleep was not an option. They had decided to rotate watches, using the regular patrols of the guards outside as a timekeeper. That had been twelve patrols ago.

He rolled to his feet before he was even fully awake, noticing that Wheln had instinctively reached for a weapon. A pity he had none. Six Eldar in the grey uniforms of the prison guard entered, followed by Kaboth, all pointing compact pistols at the prisoners. Kaboth waved them impatiently to their feet.

" Move. You wanted in audience chamber. Go, now."

Cannis hauled himself up and glared at Kaboth as they were herded out of the cell.

" What the frak is going on?"

Kaboth grinned evilly and actually deigned to answer, which surprised Cannis no end.

" You been purchased. Now move."

Cannis stumbled along in a stat of shock. He had no idea whether being purchased was a good or bad thing. On the plus side, they would have no more arena fights. Or the down side, he was guarantied that his life was about to get very difficult. Then they entered a wide chamber and his heart sank. He recognised the Eldar. It was the bastard from the chamber, the leader of the raid. Khulan Blade-fist smiled at him and spoke, not even needing a translator.

" Hello, mon-keigh. Long time no see.

The shock on the mon-keigh's face was delicious, though Khulan. He watched as the human tried to understand how on earth he could be here. The expressions on the mon-keigh's face flickered from shock, to horror, despair and finally hopless anger. With a roar of rage it threw itself towards the dracon. With a slight smile Khulan pulled out the nerve-whip.

Cannis sprinted towards the Eldar, not caring whether the guards gunned him down. Only one thing reverberated through his mind. This was the bastard who had killed his men, soldiers he had known for almost fifteen years and with whom he had shared a bond close to love. He didn't care that he had no weapons; his fists would be more than enough.

As he charged forwards, the Eldar nonchalantly unclipped something from the belt around its waist. It was a whip, made up of multiple strands of a dull grey metal and rippling with energy. The Eldar stuck, whipped the weapon forwards faster than Cannis could ever hope to dodge. When the strands made contact with his skin, the energy coducted instantly from the whip to Cannis' nerves. He collapsed to the floor as every single pain receptor in his body went crazy. It felt for all the world like he was simultaneously burning alive and being dissolved by acid. Needless to say, it was not a pleasant sensation.

When the pain finally receded, Cannis found himself lying on the floor, covered in sweat and with blood in his mouth. It would seem that, as he convulsed, he had bitten the inside of his lip. He tried to get up, but his limbs refused to obey him, still twitching frequently in aftershock from the pain. He glared up at the Eldar, cursing viciously. He stopped when his new owner raised the whip again. The Dracon grinned malevolently and gestured towards the door. Cannis felt strong hands under his arms and realised that Wheln and Ship were hauling him to his feet. Obviously, the sight of what the whip did to him was enough of a warning for them. Guided by the Eldar, the group stumbled down long corridors and winding staircases, Pollo bringing up the rear. When they finally reached the dock the guards herded them aboard a sleek black skimmer with a stylised heart on one wing. They stumbled aboard, Cannis still unable to walk on his own. The Dracon followed them, keeping an exotic pistol pointed at their backs the whole way. Once they were on-board, the Dracon handed something over to the Jailer and the guards departed. Once the other Eldar had departed, the Dracon boarded the skimmer. Seeing the malevolent looks the humans cast his way, he raised the pistol and fired four shots.

Cannis felt a sting on his neck and the colour faded out of his world.

Everything went black.

_I know it's a short chapter but another one will be coming soon. If you read this please review by hitting the little purple button. I accept non-members reviews as well, so you have no excuse. Review, or I will despatch the madrakes.._


	6. Training

Cannis dragged his way back to consciousness, swimming through a grey fog. He could just about back out a light at the end of the fog. He swam towards it. As he went, he wondered. _Am I dead?_

His eyelids flicked open and a bright light almost immediately blinded him. He blinked several times, allowing his eyes to adjust. The world swam into focus. The light was a halogen bulb, several feet above his head. He was lying on his back, on a metallic feeling slab. He tried to look around, but his muscles rebelled, refusing to move. He goaned. _Not again._ He tried to remember how he had got here. The remaining pain in his limbs reminded him of the nerve-whip, and the way Wheln and Ship had had to carry him to that skimmer. He remembered the sharp stinging on his neck and realised that he'd been sedated.

He cursed everyone and everything he believed could possibly be even partially for his current situation. He cursed every commander he'd ever had. He cursed the machanium. He cursed the eldar for leaving that portal there. But most of all he cursed that bloody Dracon. Every now and then he remembered to fire the occasional pray for deliverence in the general direction of the god-emperor of mankind.

Suddenly he realised that at sometime during his cursing he had become able to move his head. Swiftly he looked around the room. Lying on another three benches nearby were Wheln, Ship and Pollo. They appeared to be in some kind of operating laboratory. Next to his head lay a small table festooned with a variety of surgical equipment. Some of them still had blood on them. His blood, he realised with a jolt. It couldn't have been a strong drug, because he could just about move his legs and arms. Very slowly, he swung his legs over the edge of the bench and sat up. With very gentle hands, he reached up and felt the back of his head. It was the most painful area. Suddenly his questing fingers came across a small metallic block affixed to the back of his head. Most likely some kind of tracking chip.

A string of vicious curses in some unknown language informed him that Pollo was awake and currently engaged in the same activity as Cannis. He guessed it was a necromundan underhive dialect. Staggering clumsily over to the other bench, Cannis helped Pollo to his feet. Both of them had the chips in their skulls. Exhausted by even this effort, Cannis sat back down and tried to figure out what he was going to do.

Khulan gazed at the view screen, grinning as the camera showed that all four men were now awake and fighting against the drugs that still resided in their system. Rising from the seat he had occupied for the past three hours he stretched like a particularly dangerous feline and crossed to the door. He put one hand on a panel on the frame and waited for the genetic reader to realise who he was. The door hissed open and he went to greet his newest possessions.

Cannis looked up as the door opened. He was expecting some kind of guard to come in. So when he saw the Dracon, all four of them were stunned for a few seconds. A quick glance confirmed that the fool was completely unarmed; he didn't even have a whip. Cannis and Pollo leapt at their tormentor, Wheln and Ship a few moments behind them. As he ran, Cannis snatched up one of the bloodied surgical instruments, fully intending to bury it in this bastard's gut. He never got the chance. With less than a foot between them, the dracon grinned and said one word.

" Stop"

The second the command was voiced, the back of Cannis' head exploded in pain. Bands of fire poured from the small implant and wrapped themselves through his brain. His muscles locked and he found his body unresponsive to his commands to plunge the scalpel into this bastard's eye. He struggled for all he was worth, but the painful brands in his mind had separated his motor functions from his conscious control and taken them over. The Dracon grinned.

" Drop the weapons and sit."

Again the brands scorched his pain, extracting a small gasp of pain, and he found himself walking back to the bench, the bloodied instrument slipping from his hand. It clattered on the floor. A quick glance told him that his three companions were also obeying, though each had beads of sweat on their brows as they struggled to resist the devices control. He sat. Cannis could still control his mouth so, as he couldn't kill this thing, he settled for the next best option. Namely, hurling every time of verbal abuse he could think of at his new owner. If words were enough to kill, the Eldar would currently be a small pile of ash. Unfortunately, he wasn't a powerful psyker or the emperor.

Khulan was actually rather glad that his translator couldn't keep up with the human's vicious torrent of verbal abuse, as he was sure that it was of sufficient quality to turn even his hair. What little he could keep up with seemed to be dealing with burning, digesting, crucifying and a form of flesh eating bacterium. Also something about a vat of acid. This, he decided, he could not allow to stand. With a flash of brilliant insight he figured out a way to teach this impudent mon-keigh why he should respect his betters.

Cannis was just getting into his stride, noticing that even Pollo was looking impressed at his imagination, when the Eldar held up one hand.

" Stop."

Immediately Cannis' jaw locked shut as tight as if his lips had been fused. But the Eldar was finished yet. It pointed one taloned finger at the discarded scalpel on the floor.

" Pick it up"

Cannis' immediately bent over and lifted the still bloody blade from where he had dropped it. He straightened up and glared at the Eldar, wondering what exactly was going through the xenos' head. The Eldar looked at Wheln.

" You will not move."

Wheln's arms and legs locked solid, despite his obvious attempts to stop them. The Eldar grinned maliciously before turning back to Cannis. He pointed at Wheln.

" Slit his throat."

Cliffhanger! I apologise for the delay in the story, no real excuse. Now, I need your votes: What should happen next? Should Cannis be forced to murder one of his closest friends? Or should something else happen? I'm not going to update until I get at least a few votes!

Maugen Ra


	7. Interrogation

_O.k, I got enough reviews to reach a decision. Thanks to all those who voted._

_Riddlesindisguise- Thanks; I'm trying to improve my technique. And the dark eldar have been making control devices for a long time, I reckon they know what they're doing._

_Lasserith- Thanks for the review, but I can't really think of a way I could use your idea without either ending the story early or making it sound really cheesy._

_Thefallenheart- Slightly contradictory advice, not slitting his throat but still exploring depths of evil, hmm…_

_Extartius- Right, that's one critic won over. Thanks for the compliments, not bad for a 14 year old, right? I'll try and make the combats a little more difficult._

_Vain-knight- sorry about the cliffhanger, I couldn't resist it! If you want to add in a new member of the group, any idea about who it could be?_

_Tankmaster- Thanks, though the dark eldar don't really have any tanks. Would another Tallos (giant floating metallic scorpion thing) Be O.K?_

_On with the show…_

Cannis went completely white with shock. Again the fiery bands wrapped themselves around his mind and he raised his arm. Cannis tried as hard as he could to regain control, but the knife kept on rising. His feet took a few steps forwards before he could stop them. The knifepoint quivered in the air next to Wheln's throat. The burning in his mind increased and it began to draw sideways, the edge drawing blood as he slowly but surely lost his battle with the controlling device. He poured every last drop of his will and sheer bloody-mindedness into holding that arm still. It quivered and paused in its journey. However, the pain in his skull was almost enough to overcome him and he knew that, unless he did something soon, another of his brothers-in-arms was going to die.

Khulan watched with malicious amusement as the mon-keigh tried to arrest the movement of his arm, but the control device had been perfected long ago by the haemonculi and no human possessed the will to stop it. The knife started to drag across the human's throat and Khulan chuckled internally. Then he realised his mistake. The mon-keigh's two companions launched themselves forwards, one of them barrelling into the Sergeant and knocking him backwards. The shock of impact interrupted the sergeant's concentration and the blade slashed across, scoring a thin red line along the front of the other's throat. Khulan was a veteran warrior and he could tell at a glance that the wound wasn't fatal. Then the second human smashed into his midriff. The dracon collapsed backwards, taken completely by surprise. His head smashed against the edge of one of the surgical benches and, in the moments before he blacked out, he felt coarse hands fumbling at his knife belt.

Cannis picked himself up and immediately went to check on Wheln. The man was doubled over in pain, but he could instantly tell that the man would survive. At least he no longer felt compelled to slash Wheln's throat. Then he realised that, technically, he already had. The Eldar hadn't said anything about it needing to be a mortal wound. He realised it had been Pollo who had knocked him to the floor, and an ugly thought surfaced in his mind. Where was the Eldar? A quick look told him that their tormentor was no longer a problem. He was lying unconscious on his back and Ship was crouched over him holding a knife to his throat. Obviously an Eldar never went around unarmed. Ship looked at him.

" Permission to cut this bastards throat, sir?"

Cannis pondered this. It would be immensely satisfying to murder this bastard where he lay, but Cannis held no illusions as to their chances of surviving in this place if they did. A faint moan came from the eldar's lips and Cannis reached a decision. He crossed over to Ship and took the knife from his unresisting fingers. No one could deny that he had the most right to vengeance. It was a good knife, designed for brutal murder instead of elegance. He crouched over the prone Eldar and placed the knife on his face.

Khulan jolted back to consciousness and immediately wished he hadn't. The human had his belt-knife pointed at his eye, and Khulan didn't doubt that the sergeant would kill him without hesitation. Humans tended to get incredibly touchy when you killed their friends and put them into slavery. He had no idea why. The mon-keigh was glaring at him, and Khulan realised that the only reason he had woken up at all was because this human needed him for something. It was speaking in its clumsy tongue and it took Khulan a few moments to dredge up the language from the depths of his mind, where it had lain since he learned it almost a decade ago.

" I'll ask you again: Why shouldn't I kill you?"

Khulan considered this. Inside he was really quite nervous, no one had had him at his or her mercy like this for a long time. He decided he'd better provide a good reason or his long and… interesting life would end.

" Because if I die then there is no way that you will make it out of this building. You'll still be alive, but you really wish you won't be."

Cannis ground his teeth in frustration. The Eldar was right. He'd read more than enough reports on the prowess of these 'haemonculi' to take the threat seriously. They were a caste of Eldar that completely dedicated themselves to the pursuit of pain. Their own or other people's, it didn't matter. An idea hit him. From what he had seen, this Eldar was fairly high ranking. They could use him to escape.

"Very well. Here's what we're going to do. We are going to leave this bloody place, and you are going to help us. I want you to guide us through this 'webway' of yours to the place we came from. Any problems?"

The Eldar laughed. He actually laughed. Flat on his back with a desperate man holding a knife to his throat and he laughed. This guy was seriously unbalanced.

" Several, actually. One, you assume that my underlings won't take the opportunity of my capture to trigger a convenient accident and replace me. Second, there is not a single living thing left alive on that planet beyond the occasional lizard, and even if their was, we mined the entrance. Third, even if I could return you to your kind, what makes you think they'll take you back? I am quite aware of the concept your religion has, that being captured by xenos or heretics makes you dammed. You return and the absolute best you can hope for is an execution followed by a posthumous absolution."

Cannis cursed. Again. This bloody xenos had a remarkably clear idea of how imperial society worked. He pondered his options. There was no way they were going to escape from this place, nor would they survive if they did. If they stayed, then things defiantly weren't looking much better. A question bubbled its way to the front of his mind.

" Out of interest, what exactly were you planning to use us for, anyway? Why the obedience chips?"

The eldar grimaced. " I was actually planning to use you as personal… assistants. There is no end of things skilled human warriors can be used for here. Everyone underestimates you. Like those wyches."

Cannis considered their options again. He looked at the other men, and they had clearly reached the same conclusion he had. They had to make the best of what they had. And they would be killing xenos. He turned back to the Eldar.

" You take these chips out of our heads, and we'll work for you. Only if you remove the chips. O.K?"

The Eldar looked over Cannis' shoulder and smiled.

The hiss of the doors sliding open was all the warning anyone had. The next second, a full dozen warriors charged into the room. Wheln toppled to the floor, concussed by a knife hilt to the back of his skull. Pollo, reacting with all the speed and skill obtained by a lifetime of service as a necromundan bodyguard, managed to duck under the first swip of a crackling energy baton and doubled its wielder over with a punch to the gut before he was violently subdued by another three. Ship was struck in the small of the back by an energy baton and collapsed unconscious to the ground. Cannis lunged for the nearest guard, blade in hand, but from his prone position the Dracon tripped him and he sprawled to the floor. The Eldar crouched on his chest and leaned down close to his ear.

" Mabye"

A swift rabbit punch and Cannis' world went dark.

Khulan retrieved his knife and dismissed the guards. He wondered about that Mon-keigh. He had actually been telling the truth about their intended purpose, all four of them possessed a very potent streak of viciousness; malice and sheer ability that could make them very useful to have around. He was slightly doubtful about removing their obedience chips, though. A lifetime of infinite wariness and paranoia had made him loathe to release them from his absolute control, but he supposed that if that was all it took to secure their loyalty, then he would do it. At least their leader had realised a very important truth: their best chance of survival and a real life lay in not allowing Khulan to die. He turned, calling for the surgeon.

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_Well, there you have it. Again, I would appreciate reviews about what you believe should happen next. In particular I'm looking for suggestions about how to show the humans the dark eldars way of life. Until next time._

_Maugen Ra_


	8. Surgery

Thanks to all those who reviewed, I like you people so much I've decided to make another chapter.

_Vain-Kn1ght- Thanks for the assassination idea, I might work it in somewhere. And don't worry, I intend to carry this story on for a fair while. The ideas just keep coming!_

_Masecase- Well, thanks for the review, but please in future try to say something about the story, eh?_

_Ravenor- Thanks for the info, but I'm not sure if they're ever going to leave Commaragh. Mabye at some point in the future._

_Death Korps- If you don't mind, to which idea are you referring?_

_Anyway, here's the next chapter!_

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Wheln woke, much to his surprise. His body still tingled with the after effects of those nasty stun batons, but he was alive. A quick glance told him that he was lying on a relatively soft bed in a darkened room. He wasn't bound in any way and he could actually move his muscles. Hmm. That was unexpected. Pollo and Ship were lying prostrate on another pair of beds across the room. He stood up and searched the whole area. There was a single door in one wall, but it was locked. There were several rooms, connected by other archways, however, so it appeared that they were in some kind of apartment. Looks like that Eldar had kept his word thus far. Wheln wasn't sure whether trusting him was a good idea. Scratch that, trusting an Eldar was a downright _suicidal _idea, let alone that particular one. But he was sure the sarge had their best interests at heart. Speaking of which, where _was _Cannis?

Haemonculus Arquir was an oddity among his order. Most of the haemonculi lived to cause pain to other things or to themselves, but Arquir was a specialist in enhancing surgery. He had been employed many times to work on captured humans, upgrading them ready for the arenas. It was his calling, and it was exactly why he had recently been employed by Dracon Khulan of the Black Heart to upgrade four of his recent acquisitions. The first of the patients had been brought in a few minutes ago and was now strapped to a surgical frame. He had woken up and was glaring at Arquir with a mixture of the typical fear and, more surprisingly, hatred. Arquir liked this. Most of the patients that he had to work on were terrified out of their wits by the prospect of being at the mercy of a Haemonculus, but this one showed a surprising amount of backbone. Arquir shrugged. What was that human saying? Ah, that was it. Ours not to reason why. He lifted a syringe from the table next to him and plunged it into the mon-keighs neck. The powerful tranquiliser put him straight to sleep. It was necessary that the patient didn't squirm during surgery. After all, the dracon would be most displeased if such a valuable servant was 'broken'. He picked up the scalpel, humming a little tune to himself from the ancient poems from before the fall. He liked that sort of thing.

Compared to the other 'accommodation' that they had thus far been provided with, this apartment was positively luxurious. They had comfortable beds, adequate facilities and no armed guards at the door. Something was wrong. Wheln crossed over to a small window set in one wall and pulled up the metal shutter. He gazed out into hell. Huge towers wrought of some kind of obsidian rock punched towards the sky, competing with their neighbours for viciousness, the gaps spanned by arched bridges festooned with cruel barbs and spikes. From each window ledge and bridge dangled a gibbet interred with a wide variety of species. The one nearest contained what could only be a genestealer. What else had four arms? Still, despite the horrifying architecture, something felt wrong on an even baser level. There was something about this place that made you want to run gibbering in fear. Looking upwards, Wheln found the reason. High above the tallest spire was stretched a thin layer of some bubble like material, and beyond it he could just about make out a realm of impossible colours and weird dimensions. Something huge and dark coasted closer from this realm, dragging claws of pure darkness against the bubble before floating away again. Throne of earth, they were in the warp!

Arquir kept humming to himself as he worked. It helped pass the time. The cortical implants had taken nicely, sharpening the mon-keighs senses and reaction times, so he had no worries there. The surgery that he was currently performing would increase the patient's metabolism and endurance five-fold; the better for drawn out fights, and the mental adrenalin control would allow the mon-keigh to boost his performance at will, as well as block out pain. In short, Arquir had turned this warrior into an engine of destruction. He had even implanted a new organ below the heart to allow his blood to clot quicker and his body to recover from injuries at a phenomenal rate. This man was now almost the equal of one of the space marines, but with an emphasis on faster reactions and agility rather than endurance and brute strength. Perfect. Now there was only one task left to do. With a complicated looking tool Arquir set about inscribing the tattoos that would mark the warrior as property of Lord Khulan and as the work of Haemonculus Arquir. It was always satisfying to sign his work. Plus, the ink masked the dozens of raw surgical scars that covered the patient's torso.

Wheln tore his gaze away from what could only be the surface of the webway and took a more detailed look around. Overhead sleek transports swooped by, dancing in a complex aerial ballet with darting jet-bike riders and maniacal Hellions. Down below, in the twisting alleyways between the spires, small black figures hurried back and forth on errands. From what he could see, none of the figures on the ground were Eldar. The pirates seemed to prefer crossing the bridges than descending to the streets and suddenly Wheln saw why. One of the jet-bikes, engine screaming, dived down from the sky, its pilot weaving a masterful course between the arching bridges and dangling gibbets to zero in on a particular slave, a tau who wasn't paying enough attention to his surroundings. The jet-bike took the tau in the stomach, impaling him on one of the many sets of spikes that decorated its fuselage and flew off, prisoner jerking limply on the front and screaming out something that sounded horribly like a prayer to whatever gods it worshiped. In a move of clearly calculated malice, the driver angled his jet-bike straight upwards and accelerated, letting the laws of physics bisect the tau horribly on the prow. As it swept up back past Wheln, he caught a single glimpse of the pilots face, twisted in an expression of fierce joy and elation. Droplets of cyan blood landed on the windowsill. Wheln slammed the shutter back down and staggered off to the bathroom just in time to be heartily sick.

Khulan strode along the corridors that lead to the surgery. The haemonculus should be just about finished by now, and Khulan was keen to inspect his new servant. He swiped his hand over the door panel and strode inside. Arquir was standing by the still-unconscious human, just finishing the last adjustment to the tattoos. Arquir was an exceedingly odd person by Commaragh's standards. For a start, he actually tranquilised his patients. To him, they were works of art, not playthings, an attitude that had earned him much contempt from the other Haemonculi. Still, none could deny his skill at the creation of grotesques. Others created shuffling abominations that had long since lost any intelligence that they might have once possessed, abominations that could wade into a hail of gunfire without flinching. Not Arquir. He created skilled gladiators, warriors that possessed razor sharp reflexes and every last piece of their original personality. It placed him in much demand, and Khulan had only been able to acquire his services with the offer of the protection of the Black Heart. Such a thing was much more valuable than any amount of money, for those without protection or the ability to fight for themselves died quickly in the dark city. It also protected him from the attentions of jealous rivals. As soon as the surgeon stepped away from his patient, Khulan spoke.

" Is he ready?"

Arquir didn't seem surprised at Khulan's sudden appearance, for he answered calmly and without even bothering to look.

"Just about, Lord Khulan. This one is possibly my best piece of work yet. I assume that you will be requiring a similar service on the rest of the Humans?"

Khulan nodded.

" Yes, though only on two of them. The fourth is quite dangerous enough already, I believe. He has already received augmentation from his previous masters on Necromunda."

Arquir nodded. That particular hive city was renowned among the 'Dark Eldar', as their craftworld cousins called them, for the ferocity of its inhabitants and the bodyguards of their Lords were sufficiently deadly to give even a wych pause.

" I shall attend to the others tomorrow, my lord."

" Excellent. When will this one be up and about? I need to start his training as soon as possible."

" Best give him a few hours to be safe, my Lord."

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There you go. Thanks again to all those people who reviewed my last chapter, I appreciate it. See you again whenever I complete Chapter eight: Lessons from a devil. Until then.

_Maugen Ra_


	9. Chapter 9

Hello again. I'm pleased to report that my temporary writer's block had fled, and I am once again able to continue this story.

_Vain-Kn1ght – Don't worry, I intend to. Though the real hurt won't start until the next chapter…_

_Tankmaster- Sure, send me your idea. My email is I know, but I had to give them the ability to at least keep up with the Eldar. Bit boring otherwise._

_Thefallenheart- Damn you, now my hat dosen't fit, so swollen is my head with your compliments._

_Cool, so without further ado…_

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Ever since the surgery all Cannis had done was train him-self. He knew that soon the Eldar Dracon was going to start their training for their new 'occupation' and he was determined not to let the bastard have any reason to flaunt his superiority. Plus, it gave him an excuse to test the capabilities of his new 'improvements'. Since the guards had dragged him back to the room a few days ago, both Wheln and Ship had been taken and subjected to the same processes as him. Pollo had simply been marked with the tattoos and sent back without anything extra added. They all agreed that Pollo was quite dangerous enough as he was. It was almost a full week later, according to the timepiece on the wall, that Khulan returned to begin their training…

Cannis sprinted at the wall, his upgraded legs propelling him at incredible velocities. His timing would have to be perfect, or there would be a lot of pain involved. Just a few feet from the wall, Cannis jumped, twisting his body backwards so that he impacted feet first. With a burst of adrenaline, he crouched into the landing before kicking off violently, flying back towards Pollo. The ex-bodyguard caught Cannis' extended arm and twisted, forcing the sergeant to roll in the air in order to avoid a broken arm. He landed cleanly and the sparring match continued, ignoring Wheln and Ship who were engaged in their own match in the next room.

Khulan smiled as he watched the view-screen, viewing the match via the small cameras concealed in the mon-keighs rooms. He couldn't help but be impressed at the sheer determination and concentration that they put into their exercises and practice sessions. He supposed he would do the same, if he happened to be in their position. He reckoned that now would be a good time to begin their training as his servants. He deactivated the view screen and picked up an ornate splinter pistol and sword from a rack by the door. It never hurt to be prepared. With a wave he summoned the squad of warriors outside the door and they set off towards the humans quarters.

Cannis twisted wildly, exchanging precise blows with Pollo so fast that the air whistled as they sparred. The match had been going on for about ten minutes now, but really Cannis was more interested in pushing the limits of his body than actually beating Pollo. His reflexes were faster than ever and he could now move almost as fast as Pollo, acting on some sort of base fighting instinct. In reality, he knew that he was kidding himself. He wasn't fighting to prepare himself for this job; he was fighting to expunge his shame. Ever since he'd agreed to fight for the Eldar and had the implants added, he was constantly beset with remorse. He knew that he had no real choice in the matter, but he kept feeling as though he was betraying his men, the ones that he'd left dead in the chamber. They'de fought and died and now, he was preparing to fight on behalf of their murderers. It ate away at him inside. So he fought, because in the adrenal rush and split-second decisions of a fully-fledged sparring match, he could forget the shame and the grief and concentrate on one thing: anger. It went some way towards healing the wound in his soul.

With a soft hiss the door of their apartment slid open and half-a-dozen Eldar warriors stormed in, surrounding the humans who stood calmly in the middle, facing down six aliens armed with lethal looking rifles. Behind them the Dracon entered the room. He was clothed in a different manner this morning, compared to the few other times that they had seen him. Previously, he had worn a full suit of segmented armour, bedecked with ornamentation and weapons. Now, he wore a loose fitting costume of some alien leather, and carried only two weapons: an exotic looking pistol holstered at his hip, and a curved, serrated sword that he held loosely in his right hand. Without a word, the Dracon stood aside and gestured out the door. Cannis and the others walked out. Obviously, it was time for their education to begin.

The training hall was huge. Contained within its own special level below the apartments, it consisted of a large room filled with mats and racks of weapons. Very sharp, pointy weapons. Pollo was in second heaven, immediately trying each one out for weight and handling. The Eldar stopped him.

" Weapons come later. First, unarmed combat."

Cannis grinned. He knew that all that training was going to pay off. He went practically ecstatic when the Dracon was the one who stepped on to the mats and began preparing.

" You're… You're the one fighting us?"

The Dracon looked surprised.

" Of course. There is no better way to assess your capabilities than to face you personally."

Cannis immediately strode forwards, shooting a warning look at the others. This match was his. The Dracon grinned, as though he had been expecting this, and pulled out a knife. Before Cannis could react, he lunged for him, swinging it low and fast in a gut-thrust. Acting instinctively, Cannis crossed his arms, catching the blade in the crock of his arm and twisting, forcing the Dracon to drop the blade or risk a broken hand. Surprisingly, the Eldar didn't drop the blade, but pivoted neatly around Cannis and, in a move far to fast for his eyes to track, neatly flipped him onto his back. Cannis started to rise but froze at the ice-cold touch of steel on his neck. How the hell had he done that? The Eldar grinned down at him.

" Lesson one: No-one in this place is ever unarmed. Or entirely truthful."

Cannis grunted in acknowledgment. This was going to be a long day.

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Straleth dragged his blade sideways, letting the guard's dead body fall to the floor. Drawing his cloak around him, he stalked onwards down the twisting corridors. The bodies of a dozen slain guards lay on the ground behind him, their blood pooling on the floor. Somewhere in this place his prey waited, the prey that his employer was willing to pay several hundred souls to have slain.The price was high, for the inner sanctuary of a Black Heart Dracon would be a hard place indeed to breach. The target would have surrounded himself with many guards, of that Streleth was sure. It would do him no good. After all, wasn't he the pupil of the decapitator, the shadow in the dark, the fifth most accomplished assassain in commaragh? Yes, Streleth decided, this Khulan was as good as dead.

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Sorry that I changed my mind about the chapter title, but I just did, O.K? Anyway, thanks again to all those who reviewed, and curses upon all those who didn't.

_Untill next time_

_Maugen Ra_


	10. Hunting the hunter

Well guys, I finally got round to finishing this chapter. I know its been a long time coming, but its extra long to make it up to you. Before I start, one personal whine. My last chapter got over 70 hits, but only two people were kind enough to review. Come on guys, even if you don't like it, say so. I'm a big boy, I can take critisism. Whine over.

_Extarius- Thanks for the very helpful review, I've tried to change that flaw in this chapter._

_Riddleindisguise- Oh yeah, they would never do something that stupid. After all, the only villans who do that are the ones in the movies._

Cannis ducked the oncoming fist, seeing it too late for the feint it was as the dracon swung his knee up and into Cannis' gut. He doubled over, grunting, and gasped as his opponent thumped an elbow into the small of his back, knocking him to his knees. The cold touch of steel pricked his neck and he sighed in defeat. He looked up at the Dracon standing over him. Khulan grinned.

"Care to go again?"

Cannis considered. " How many times is that?"

"Twelve."

"And how many times have you beaten me?"

The Dracons grin widened. "Twelve."

"Forget it. Let one of the others fight you."

The dracon snorted and turned away, and Cannis chose that moment to strike. While on the ground he had gathered himself up into a tightly wound crouch, and now that his opponent was distracted he launched himself forwards. He crashed into the small of Khulan's back and sent them both toppling to the floor, stunned. Before the Eldar could recover he dug his knee in between his shoulder blades and placed his blade delicately on the jugular. He had no idea if an Eldar had a jugular vein, but he was reasonably confident that cutting something's throat was a fatal act, regardless of species.

"I win"

The Eldar did the last thing Cannis had expected under the circumstances. He laughed. The sound sent cold shivers up and down his spine.

" Excellent. I was beginning to wonder whether or not you still held your foolish principles of honour. It seems that you don't. Congratulations."

Cannis replied without removing the blade. "Oh, I do. Most of the time, I would refuse to attack someone in that manner. But I doubt very much whether any of this city's _inhabitants _would repay the compliment."

Khulan grinned again. "Very true. You may actually survive for more than a week here. But there is one more lesson you should learn…"

With startling speed, the Eldar bucked and rolled, throwing Cannis off of his back and getting back to his feet. Cannis sprung up, knife in hand, but the Dracon didn't attack.

" … That an enemy can still be dangerous even when it appears to be defenceless."

Still chuckling, the Eldar pointed at Pollo.

"You next."

Streleth wriggled his way through the kinking ventilation pipes, serrated blade clamped between his teeth. He admitted to himself that this approach was probably a bit too theatrical, but there was no way even an assassin of his skill could go undetected in this fortress and still hope to find his prey anytime soon. He cursed again silently. Why could this Khulan not be in his quarters? That would have been so much more preferable than all this sneaky hunting. He answered his own question: Things were never that convenient in real life. Besides, if he was being honest with himself, he rather enjoyed the challenge of a hunt. After all, when was a mandrake more at home than when stalking an unsuspecting target?

Cannis hunched down in the pipe and tried to keep completely still. The darkness of the training room was not contemplative to calm, however, as the voice boxes dotted around the perimeter were broadcasting a constant stream of low-pitched harmonics in ever changing patterns. Human ears couldn't pick them up, but Khulan had assured them that the sounds would unbalance them regardless. Something to do with their ancestry of hunter-gatherers and a large feline animal, apparently. Cannis was personally inclined to believe him on that point. It sounded just like the sort of thing that the Eldar would know. Their unarmed combat training had lasted a further hour after Cannis' victory, before the Eldar had taken them to this place. At this moment, an Eldar hunter was supposed to be stalking him through this nightmare assault course of pipes, walls and netting, utilising high-tech tracking systems to track his movements. Logically, the best thing to do would be to find a comfortable spot to hide and wait their adversary out, trying to keep completely still, but Cannis had enough experience of this place by now to realise that that was probably what they wanted him to do. So instead he had fashioned a weapon out of a jutting metal spar and was now attempting to stalk the stalker.

From what he could tell, the logical thing for the Eldar to do would be to patrol the room's perimeter and the more open paths, waiting for some slip-up that would reveal it's prey. He had chosen this pipe as a hiding place because it offered a good view of the likely patrol route but was still wide enough for rapid movement should he be discovered. It was also not the best hiding place, because that would be the first place any decent hunter would check. His hunch was soon proved correct. From the shadows on the other side of the wall, a lithe shape formed, pacing forwards with all the grace of a dangerous predator. Around its face was fixed a thin set of goggles and in its hand was held a device that Cannis recognised as some form of auspex. A movement tracker. Once the Eldar had gone past, Cannis rose stealthily and began to follow. It was unlikely that he would be able to actually take the thing by surprise, but he had to try.

Khulan watched the screen in front of him intently, his alien eyes easily picking out the creeping form of his slave amongst the debris. This 'Cannis' was proving more and more impressive each time Khulan met him, easily adapting to the bizarre circumstances with an admirable degree of professionalism and pragmatism. It was very unusual for an inmate of the dark city. In his experience, most of the slaves that came through here fell into one of three categories. There were those who tried desperatley to convince themselves that none of this was happening, that they would wake up any second now in their warm bed at home like they were before the slavers came. They never lasted long. Then there were those who maintained their faith in their emperor, believing that the wrath of the emperor would descend on the 'foul xenos' and that they could save themselves by praying and singing hymns, as they were lead to the tourture chamber. They lasted longer than the ones in denial, but they always buckled in the end, overcome by the sheer horrer of commaragh and the attentions of the haemonculi. They lost their faith, their determination, their energy and eventually, their life. Made the best gladiators, however. The third and final class were those who immediately abandoned their previous lives and morals, willing toadying to the eldar and stabbing everyone else in the back in their desperate desire for survival. They lost the most out of anyone, for although they tended to live longer, they became universally hated or disliked. Their fellow slaves hated them for their abject betrayal and the Eldar disliked them for their spinelessness. The best those could hope for was a long life as menials.

Cannis, on the other hand, was different. Him and his men clearly hadn't abandoned their faith or each other, but they did seem to have given up on any hope of rescue. Instead, they had focused on adapting to their environment and killing anyone that got in their way. They knew that they could never leave this place, so had chosen the next best option instead, making themselves too usefull to be desposed of. The level of cunning they displayed was really quite impressive. For humans, anyway.

Khulan turned his attention back to the screen, watching as Cannis stalked closer to his supposed hunter. This was going to get very interesting. Khulan knew the hunter personally, and Alshin wasn't the sort to leave her rear so completely unguarded. In fact, he was almost sure that his daughter was doing it delibratly, to allow the human to stalk her. He wondered why.

Samual Wheln wondered what the Eldar was thinking about. It was staring constantly at the screen, muttering to itself under its breath. Not that Wheln himself and Ship weren't watching just as avidly, but he couldn't help but wonder what such an alien mind would be thinking. He gave up with a shrug. That way laid corruption and insanity. He looked over at Ship, who also seemed to be looking at the eldar. He caught his comrade's eye and gave a small smile, which Ship returned. They had been friends ever since the founding, and actually before that. They had reason to be. They both shared the same desire that had made them join the guard, to punish all aliens and heretics who dared despoil the emperor's realm. At least that was the story that they had told to recruiting officer. The truth was a little more personal.

(memory sequence, just in case the italics don't show up)

_The wedding bells sang out joyously, proclaiming to the whole city the coming union of Sara Wheln and Brian Ship in the eyes of the god-emperor. The bride walked down the aisle, beautiful in her satin white dress, brother at her side. Surrounding them, family members clamoured to bestow their own personal gifts upon the soon-to-be-wed bride, but Samual politely asked them to wait until after the service. She looked at him, laughter in her beautiful green eyes._

"_Always ready to defend me, aren't you?"_

_He grinned. "Ah, let me. After all, soon you'll have your husband to take care of you. And, of course, my nephew."_

_Sara laughed again, fondly stroking the small lump in her abdomen, but she still didn't miss the undertones in the way he had said 'husband'._

"_Sam, he's a great guy. You don't need to worry about me. Besides, you might enjoy having a brother-in-law."_

_He grimanced. "Well, if you're sure…"_

_She laughed again. "Of course I'm sure. Now come on, it's rude to keep them waiting."_

_He nodded and they set of down the aisle. The age-old custom fell to him, being the closest male relative after their father's death last year, in the ongoing war against the seccessionists. Brian Ship was waiting for them by the alter, smiling radiently at his bride, who blushed and bowed her head._

"_Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"_

_Sam sat in the congregation as the priest went through the motions of the traditional marriage ceremony, watching the man who was becoming his brother-in-law intently. From the few times he had talked to the man he had seemed to be decent enough, but Sam had been protecting his sister for years and trust didn't come easily anymore. He cocked his head. There was a curious whining noise from outside, almost like the shellfire he'd heard in the fiction vids from the library. But why would there be shellfire here? The nearest battlefront was miles away. Probably just some constuction work nearby. Ruined the atmosphere though. He turned his attention back to the service. Sara was taking her vows._

" _I do."_

" _I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."_

_Everyone stood up and applauded as Ship pulled back Sara's veil and kissed her. Wheln reckoned that he might actually get used to this idea of having a married sister._

_The entire front half of the church, along with Ship, the priest and Sara dissapeared into a maelstrom of fire and smoke. The shell fragments decapitated the person standing next to Sam and threw him to the floor. He looked up, screaming as the first seperatists leapt through the breach in the church wall. The first had an eight-pointed star carved into his face. He watched as Ship rose from the rubble and impaled the cultist to the wall with a shell frament. Sara lay in a crumpled white bundle at his feet. Wheln screamed and charged towards them._

_(End memory)_

Wheln looked up at the Eldar again. This was an example of the xenos that he had sworn to destroy; yet he didn't feel like burying a blade in its gut. Why? A little soul searching and he realised. His hate was primarily against the ruinous powers that had killed his sister, and the eldar were renowed enemies of chaos. This one might be different, but instincts are hard to combat. He gave up trying to figure out his own emotions and turned back to the view-screen.

Cannis couldn't help but feel that he was missing something, but he couldn't identify what. Still, this was too good a chance to pass up. Being as quiet as he could, he paced up behind the strolling warrior, hefting the jagged spar in his hand. The warrior stopped suddenly and Cannis melted sideways into the shadows, but it wasn't finished. As he watched, it unclipped a small canister from its belt and flicked a cap on the top, before tossing it over its shoulder, _straight towards him_. Shit. His blood ran cold as he watched the grenade tumble through the air. He couldn't move without revealing himself, and he couldn't stay here. No choice. No choice at all. He dived towards the enemy, but the warrior had expected him. The eldar spun while he was still in mid-air, and delivered a brutal kick straight to his chest. He rotated backwards in the air and impacted hard. Pain, huge and vicious, flared up from his chest and spread throughout his body. Poison spurs. It had been wearing poisoned spurs. The last thing that he saw was the grenade. There was a hole in its top and some dark liquid was pouring out, fizzing lightly. A soft drink. They were never going to let him live this one down…

The poison spurs flashed down again and his world turned to flame.

Well, this has to have been the longest chapter I've ever written. I hope you enjoyed it, and please review. Oh, Extarius, Pollo will get his turn, don't you worry. Until next time.

Maugen Ra


	11. Tempting fate

_O.K, I finally got round to updating this story. Thanks to everyone who reviewed._

_Death Korps: Thanks, and I apologise if I forgot to mantion you in a previous chapter._

_Riddleindisguise: Thanks, though several family members are already backing away slowly from me thanks to this story and you want it to be MORE sadistic? Well, I'll try… (evil grin)_

_Ravenor: Ah, you're refering to the Soul Drinkers trilogy, and Entymion IV. I have it, and I know about the whole 'they don't actually worship chaos thing'. I could have a chapter dealing with Khulan explaining this all to the men, what do you think?_

_Changer of ways: Thanks, its always nice to be apreciated._

_Va1n Knight: Don't worry; Wheln will get his moment to shine in a bit. I really couldn't resist the soft drink idea._

_And, without further ado, enjoy:_

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Alshin stared down at the unconscious human at her feet. She couldn't believe that the ruse with the soft drink had actually worked. At first she had assumed that the human was simply stupid. Then she had realised that the Human was simply on edge after several weeks in the city and was of course bound to assume the worst of any situation. It was a common problem amongst the slaves. Shrugging, she knelt down and placed one finger on the side of his neck. There was still a strong pulse there. Good, it would be very awkward trying to explain to her father why she had killed his new slave. He seemed very interested in them for some reason. She didn't know why, but a confrontation between the second-in-command of the most powerful kabal in the city and a student of the wych cult of Strife was bound to get ugly, violent and damaging to both participants. Most confrontations in this place got like that. With one hand she grasped the front of the man's shirt and attempted to lift him, but he was much heavier than she had suspected he would be. Must be all that muscle packed onto his arms. She remembered what her father had said, that this man had been one of the human's version of sybarites, a leader of a squad of men. Obviously he must have been a skilled warrior to rise to that sort of position, and now Alshin wasn't completely sure of how the confrontation would have played out if he had actually managed to ambush her. As a trainee wych she was fairly confident of her abilities (those applicants without the required level of skill usually died during training), but rumours had it that this man had personally taken on and killed the wych Dranoth in the gladiatorial arena, something that many had believed impossible. Certainly Khulan had said nothing to deny the rumours, so she assumed that it must have been true. With a grunt she used both hands to heft him up and staggered off towards the entrance.

When the fiery pain finally receded and he was sure that it wasn't a false reprieve, Cannis decided he should probably find out where he was. He carefully opened one eye by a hair's-breadth and looked around. He was stretched out on a metal bench in what he recognised as the changing rooms off to one side of the arena. Sitting on the bench opposite him and regarding him through pale blue eyes was the hunter who had so brutally incapacitated under an hour before. He noted that her uniform had been removed and that she was now wearing the flimsy garments of a wych. It was basically a bikini, but with a large assortment of various lethal looking blades hanging off the belts. She was, he had to admit, very easy on the eye. As soon as the thought came into his mind he quashed it, remembering how this aliens comrades had completely butchered those civilians in the arena before attempting to do the same to him. That put a stop to any thoughts of attraction. Carnage usually had that effect. Deciding that there was nothing to be gained by this pretended unconsciousness, he snapped his eyes fully open and hauled himself up into a sitting position before fixing the wych with a glare.

"What _was_ that stuff?" he demanded. The wych laughed and raised one leg so that he could see the thin sheen of black liquid that coated the small blade on the heel.

"Kshapsa venom. Distilled. They're small avian predators who haunt the cities perimeter. Pests, but they produce a truly nasty venom." She explained. He grunted, then quickly checked himself for weapons. A small blade hung from a hook not three foot away, just out of reach. She caught his look and grinned, revealing teeth that had been filed to points.

"Go ahead. Take it. You'll probably need it. Now come on, my father wants to see you." She stood up and walked off towards the exit. He stood up and followed her, trying to keep the shock from showing on his face. This 'Khulan' had risked his own daughter in there? He knew that the elder showed little love towards relatives but this was a new low. Then again, given how easily she had dealt with him, maybe he wasn't so much of a risk as he liked to think. He shrugged, and concentrated his efforts on keeping up with the lithe alien, pausing only to snatch up the blade from its rack.

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Streleth was bent almost double, his blade jabbing into his gut, but for his pain he was rewarded with a perfect view of his target through the metal grill. Khulan was standing in front of a large armoured window, and appeared to be observing something in the arena below. Hunched over on the floor next to him were two humans, who he easily identified as participants in the already legendary fight a few days ago. He assumed that another of them was currently in the arena, and suddenly the fourth made his appearance through the door on the far wall, walking in after a wych that Streleth recognised from the files as Khulan's daughter, Alshin. The wych went and stood by her father, while the man joined the other two on the far side of the room.

Streleth grinned. This was just two easy. Judging from the murderous glances that the humans were aiming at the two eldar standing by the window, they were none too pleased with their imprisonment and just itching for a chance to exact vengeance. Obviously, they would take the opportunity during Streleth's distraction to plunge a blade into their captor's necks. He gathered himself up and prepared to strike.

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Cannis rubbed his neck absently, trying to work out the kinks in his muscles. In the other hand he spun the blade experimentally, testing it for weight and balance before sheathing it in his belt. It was only a couple of foot long, but made of some alien metal that rendered it as light as a feather. Neither Wheln nor Ship had a weapon, and Pollo was in the arena, so it fell to him to make sure that no surprises befalled them before they could get their hands on something big and spiky. Things looked pretty safe at the moment, but Cannis had an uncomfortable prickling feeling that told him he was being watched. Yet there was no one else in the room apart from the Eldar. Wait…

" Boss? You O.K?" Cannis glanced over at Ship.

"Yeah, why?"

Ship shrugged. " I dunno, you just suddenly tensed up and got this weird look on your face." He explained.

Cannis gestured vaguely with one arm. "Thought I saw something in that vent."

Ship chuckled. "Boss, you're losing it. Must be all those beatings you keep taking. I'd bet my right arm that there's nothing there."

Which was, of course, the moment that something chose to chuck a grenade into the room. A real one this time. Even the Eldar looked around in interest and for a few moments everyone just stared at the small black sphere sitting in the middle of the room. Then it exploded.

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_Well, sorry for the long delay, but I had to keep jiggling this chapter around until it sounded right, and even now I'm not sure I got it right. I would particularly appreciate reviews on how I did describing Alshin. Oh, an official thanks to Calaen for her elvish help with this chapter. Until next time._

_Maugen Ra._


	12. A knife's edge

Well, I finally managed to update this story. Sorry for the wait. clears throat And onto the reviews:

_Death-korps- Thanks, as always._

_Extarius- Thanks for the hints, and I might be able to work in a happy ending somehow. Though this would disappoint a lot of people, who have been crying out 'get more sadistic'. Yes Riddleindisguise, I'm talking to you._

_Va1n-knight- Thanks for the support; I've tried to make this chapter a bit longer._

The grenade exploded. For half a second Cannis thought it was a dud, but then a thick cloud of grey smoke billowed out into the room. Within a matter of seconds the whole room was filled with the choking gas. Visibility was immediately cut down to a few inches as everyone stumbled around in confusion. Thus, only Ship caught sight of the dark shadow as it wormed out of the duct and into their midst, before disappearing into the smoke.

He stared, desperately trying to pinpoint it. There, to his left. No, now it was to the right. From behind him came a human yell of pain, and he felt his panic rising. It was impossible, like trying to catch a shadow.

'_Think' _his brain rang '_what's it after? What's it doing here? You aren't the target, so find who is.' _The realisation hit him and he spun around, trying to locate the shadows target. Then, suddenly, a section of the smoke lifted away, revealing Khulan standing in the centre of the room, pistol raised and hunting. The shadow was behind him. As he watched the smoke drew back, revealing the attacker for what it was. The shadow was an Eldar, though of a strange and horrifying variety. It was thin and tall, wrapped in a cloak that constantly shifted in hue, and wielding a pair of long jagged knives. As it reared up in a mantis position, ready to plunge its blades down into down into Khulan's back and through his heart, Ship caught sight of its face. A white cadaver, stretched taught across its face and streaked with blood. The bright red of the fluids contrasted sharply with the paleness of its face and the black pits of its eyes. A set of clean skulls hung from its waist, and a necklace of finger-bones dangled from its neck. _Mandrake,_ whispered his mind, recalling an emotionless briefing he'd been given over a year before. _Shadow hunter, man stalker, monster. _He knew he had just seconds to act, but was torn with indecision. If he didn't act, then Khulan was sure to die and their future would be in jeopardy. If he did, then he'd be preserving the life of a foul xenos and aiding an enemy of the Imperium. Something hardened within him and he made his decision.

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Streleth carefully reached down and unhooked the smoke grenade from his belt and tossed it through the bars of the grille. It was an essential tool for such a close range hit, and hopefully by the time the smoke dissipated he would be long gone with the target dead behind him. He waited a few seconds to allow the smoke to spread before kicking open the grille and launching himself into the room. Knowing that any fast thinking person would shoot at the vent, he immediately launched himself upwards, scaling the walls with the grace of a spider. His hunch was proved correct as a long blade that narrowly missed his trailing foot pierced the smoke beneath him. He smiled. Clearly the young wych had quick reactions.

He slid left, still scaling the wall, and jumped off into the centre of the room. A dark shape materialised in the smoke next to him and he lashed out with one blade as he fell, feeling the tug of contact and hearing the cry of pain from a human throat. Damn, wrong species.

For a few moments he toyed with his prey, dancing in and out of their ranks and lashing out randomly to add to the confusion. Finally, he located his target. Khulan was standing near the centre of the room, holding a splinter pistol before him and scanning for targets. Streleth hissed in pleasure, before darting left to avoid the hunting gun. He always preferred it when his pray was a challenge. Circling round the room, he came up from behind the prey, raising his knives in high above his head. He could be using his own pistol, but he preferred this way. It was more elegant. He hissed loudly, and watched in amusement as the dracon spun on one foot, enjoying the way his eyes widened in shock at the sight of his imminent death. He brought the blades sweeping down.

Something crashed into him from the side.

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Cannis turned at the sound of the hiss, and immediately saw what was about to happen. He started forwards, swinging his short blade in a wide, sweeping arc, knowing already that he was going to be too late. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he twisted his head to see what it was. Ship flew through the air, crashing into the mandrake just as it started to bring its blades down, sending them both tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The Eldar recovered first, leaping to its feet, Ship just a moment behind thanks to his augmented reflexes. Cannis reached them just as the Mandrake stabbed downwards, towards the still stooped Ship. The blade passed through the ex-guardsman's thigh, emerging from the other side in a spray of arterial paste. Lunging forwards, Cannis slammed into the mandrake from behind, sending it toppling for the second time in as many heartbeats. This time, Cannis didn't even try to rise. He'd seen something.

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Streleth growled in anger. This mon-keigh was delaying him, preventing him from reaching his target. He shook the human off and bounded away into the smoke, feeling a slight tug on his waist as the man made a desperate lunge for him. He circled again, determined to end this hunt as swiftly as possible. With a swift jump, he ended up straight in front of Khulan, lashing downwards with his blade. He grinned; knowing that there was no way that anyone could stop him now. Suddenly, his blade halted in its downward arc. There was another blade in its way. Glancing left, he saw the second human, arms outstretched, parrying the blow. How the hell had he…

A fist caught him just under the chin, slamming him backwards through the air. His vision blurred and he impacted hard on the floor, sliding backwards several foot before he managed to arrest his momentum. He roared. Someone was going to pay for that. He rolled to his feet, seeing the humans running towards him. With one hand, he groped for the splinter pistol at his belt. Elegance be dammed, this was the time for simply completing the job and getting out. Preferably before a score of warriors heard the commotion and piled into the room. He grinned, already seeing the looks of pain and shock on the faces of his enemies, just before he killed them. First the target, then the one who punched him…

The pistol wasn't there.

He looked down, shocked, and his eyes confirmed what his hands were telling him. The holster was empty. Where had it gone? A memory floated, unbidden, to the front of his mind. That sharp tug on his belt as he'd jumped away, the mon-keigh sprawled on the ground next to him. He looked up, already knowing what he would see.

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The look on the mandrakes face was almost comical. One hand clutching at his side, Cannis held the stolen pistol out in front of him and pointed the narrow end at the mandrake. There was a plethora of small runes and decorative chains covering its small frame, and a series of small switches on the rear end, but he was pretty sure that he'd identified the trigger mechanism. He aimed it carefully at the assassins face, and squeezed. There was a rasping sound and the gun fired.

Splinter weapons are quite different to the armaments of most races. Instead of having many bullets for its ammunition, a splinter weapon was loaded with a single helkaer crystal, often coated with poison. When the trigger is pulled, a complex electro-magnetic pulse shatters part of the crystal and propels the shards down the barrel at high speeds. The weapon is only really useful against organic foes, as the shards will tend to glance off metal, though some acid-coated armour-piercing varieties do exist. As you can imagine, the effect on an unprotected face at close range is horrific.

Cannis watched as the mandrake fell over backwards, face lacerated, eyeballs popped, skull exposed. He knew few corpses were attractive, but that one really had to take the prize. He looked around. The smoke from the mandrakes grenade was fading, and he could now make out the blurred silhouettes of the others. The wych Alshin was looking straight at him, a slight smile creasing her mouth. Khulan was leaning against one of the control consoles, looking thoughtful. Ship was crouched over Wheln, who was sprawled on the floor. Oh, shit.

He ran over, and kneeled by Wheln's prostrate body. The man's eyes were open, and he was breathing heavily. He was also covered in blood. There was a long, jagged tear running from his left wrist all the way up to his shoulder. Normally, such a wound would have raised the possibility of him dying of blood-loss or shock, but Wheln's augmented constitution was already countering the wound. As Cannis watched, the blood slowly started to clot, turning from vivid red to dark brown in a few seconds. There was no hyperventilation, no wide-eyed staring, nothing that indicated the onset of shock. Grudgingly, Cannis admitted to himself that these augmentations might actually prove useful. With a sudden movement, Wheln hauled himself to his feet, testing his limb for signs of permanent damage. Thankful that his man was going to live, Cannis turned back to Khulan.

The elder was still standing there, with that same enigmatic smile on his face. Cannis cocked his head at the expression, and the eldar deigned to explain.

" Hmm. Seems you are loyal after all." Cannis strode straight up to the smirking alien and looked him in the eye.

" Not loyal. Not to an alien. You… You're just our best chance of survival at the moment. You're my meal-ticket." The eldar smirked.

"Human, in this place, do you really think there's any difference between the two?"

Cannis was about to reply, a snappy retort rising to his lips, when the door slid open. Pollo stood there, in front a bloody and battered looking wych. The ex-bodyguard's gaze took in the drifting smoke, the wounded men and the dead assassin. He quirked one sardonic eyebrow.

"Honestly. Can't I leave you alone for a moment?"

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_Well, that's that. Sorry about the long wait, but my English teacher is still on my back. I've handed in my creative writing piece of coursework three times, and he's lost EVERY SINGLE COPY. Honestly._

_Anyway, reviews welcome, as always. Until next time._

_Maugen Ra._


	13. Chapter 12

_Wayhay! I finally managed to get this chapter looking right! It's been completed for three days now, but I only just managed to finish the editing. (clears throat) Onto the reviews:_

Riddleindisguise- Naw, you can keep yelling it if you want to. I don't want to get too boring and calm. (shudders). I must be doing something right then…

_Va1n-knight- Thanks. No story is complete without a good cliffhanger._

_Tankmaster- I don't know about gladiator fights, I was just going to keep them as bodyguards. Might work it in somewhere._

_TomClancy- Hermit with an A550 sniper-rocket launcher? Just wouldn't work…_

Chapter 12 

Back in their quarters, the humans sat around in a circle discussing their choices. They'd all tried to get some sleep, but there was no way that was going to happen. Outside, the ruddy twilight was the same as ever, but they'd decided that this was probably as close as they were going to get to night-time. Pollo was the first to speak.

"So, let me get this straight. While I was out in that nightmare jungle, you guys were busy fighting off an assassin, who was gunning for Khulan. And this sort of event seems to be run-of-the-mill around here?" He looked around at the others, searching them for some kind of clue that they were pulling his leg. Ship was hanging by his feet from some exercise bars that they'd fitted to the ceiling, and stopped from doing some pull-ups just long enough to give an answer.

" Yep. And, from what I can tell, we just earned the enmity of any other assassins that belonged to that guy's cult. So now we have even more reason to watch our backs." He snorted. "As though we didn't already have enough."

Cannis nodded. The last thing they wanted right now was another set of enemies. Fate however, seemed to have other ideas. He stood up.

" I'm turning in. I have a feeling that I'll need the energy tomorrow." The others concurred.

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They were woken the next 'morning' by the wych Alshin striding into their quarters and kicking them. While they were still struggling to untangle themselves from the sheets, she informed them that Khulan wanted them in the weapons range and left.

Five minutes later, all four of them were standing outside an innocuous looking doorway several floors beneath their chamber. Wheln was the first one to enter, pushing the door aside and striding in. The sight that greeted them stunned even Pollo. The entire room was filled with racks upon racks of weaponry. Most of them held splinter weaponry, from the small pistols to the huge automatic cannons, however they could see several examples of other races weaponry decorating one wall. One of them looked suspiciously like a daemon sword in a special rune-encrusted case. They were in second heaven.

Waiting for them at one end of the room was Khulan. The Dracon was outfitted in full battle-gear. He was wearing a full suit of mesh armour, and armed with a pair of splinter pistols holstered at his waist. In one hand he carried an unsheathed dagger.

"Welcome," he said "to my personal weapons cache. This is where you will come to be outfitted just before a task. For now, I need you to find whichever set of weaponry you're comfortable with. Choose carefully, for your lives will depend on it. I spent too much on you to have you dying in your first fight."

Cannis stared at him. There was enough firepower in this room to outfit a whole regiment at least, and it was just this Eldar's 'personal cache'? He began to realise exactly how influential their owner was. With a smile, he began to window-shop.

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Near the centre of Commaragh lay the headquarters of the Black Heart Kabal. The only tower in the entire city to be completely unconnected to any other via a bridge, the Black Citadel was a very obvious statement of the Kabal's power. Studded with splinter cannon and Lance turrets, any unlicensed craft that flew too close would be identified and eliminated within half a second. Around the only entrance paced over forty Eldar warriors, and on either side of the door a full squad of Incubi stood motionless. And yet, despite all of these security arrangements, Asdrubal Vect still felt nervous.

It is not often that something comes along of sufficient lethality to worry the head of the most powerful Kabal in the entire city, but a few hours ago something had. One of Vect's chief lieutenants, a man called Siloth, had been found messily eviscerated in his quarters on the eighteenth level of the tower. The security footage showed no one entering or leaving the apartment for a few hours before the discovery of the body, and the pool of blood surrounding the body had still been warm. But it wasn't the apparent invisibility of the killer that worried the Archon. No, it was the calling card left behind on the body. Well, carved into it. A gothic D, held within the gaping mouth of a stylised skull. The mark of the Decapitator.

The Decapitator. The most feared of assassins. The mandrake champion. If the Decapitator marked you for death then you were already doomed. No armour could resist his strikes and no blade could parry his blows. And now the Decapitator had attacked the Black Heart. This was a very delicate situation. One wrong step, and the streets would run with blood. Well, more than they did now, anyway.

He finally settled upon a course of action. With a gesture, he caused a small computer screen to rise from the arm of his throne. He started punching in commands on the miniature keyboard. The Dracons would have to be summoned.

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Cannis flexed his arms, testing his new armour. He'd found it hanging in a small cupboard to one side, and had tossed sets to the other men. It was a suit of mesh armour, composed of thousands off small scales woven together. When something impacted on it, the scales would instantly lock together and dissipate the force across a large area. It worked especially well against energy-based weapons. Worn normally, the scales relaxed and the entire thing was as light and flexible as silk.

"I so have to get me some of this." He muttered under his breath. Then he jumped as Khulan materialised at his right shoulder. The Eldar had a thing with doing that.

"You can. It's yours."

Cannis raised his eyebrows in surprise. He noted that Khulan's set of mesh armour was far more ornate than his, sporting several strands of gold woven in amongst the scales. The human's set only had a small Black Heart symbol over their chest. Something nagged at the back of his mind and he turned to the Eldar.

"These suits. They're human sized." The Eldar grinned.

"I had them tailored specifically for you. Just before the incident with the chips, in fact."

Cannis frowned. Even before he'd made them the offer, the Eldar had known they would accept. The devious little…

Suddenly a small com-unit on Khulan's wrist bleeped. The Dracon raised it to his face and pressed a small button. A small hologram was projected a few inches above his wrist, in the face of an Eldar. The rest of the humans congregated around, interested in this new event. Cannis shuddered. There was something about that image, in the eyes, perhaps, that spoke to him of eons of cruelty and evil.

The face spat out a stream of syllables in the Eldar's dark tongue, and Khulan's face first widened in surprise, and then turned to a frown. Then the image changed into a small rune. A gothic D in the mouth of a stylised skull. To Cannis' horror, Khulan's face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated fear, before settling back into its usual blank façade. Something that could cause Khulan to fear must be terrible indeed. The image faded out.

Khulan snapped out of his reverie and turned to them.

"Grab some weapons and come with me. We've been summoned to meet Lord Vect."

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Perched on a metal gargoyle almost a kilometre in the air, the thing known in the crude human tongue as the Decapitator nodded in satisfaction. The small listening devices it had placed in Vect's throne room had overheard the summons that the Archon had sent out. The Dracons were coming. The one known as Khulan was coming.

The decapitator sought information about the death of its protégé, Streleth. The mandrake had not been the subject of its affections or even respect, but the mandrake had been the one signalled out to be its apprentice. Admittedly, if Streleth had managed to get himself killed on an assassination, then the Decapitator would not met out revenge. It was, however, curious as to how a mandrake of Streleth's abilities had been killed before it could even hit the target. Such a thing was definitely worth investigation. With a small hiss, the Decapitator drew its blade, the weapon that shared its name. Holding the weapon in two hands, the Mandrake champion used the other two to latch onto the Black Hearts citadel. It was time.

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O.K, once again, sorry for the tremendously long wait. (By my standards anyway.) I've been reading a lot of other people's stories, and so was distracted from updating my own. I would like to take this opportunity to recommend the work of Basilisk9466. They're awesome.

_As always, reviews are very welcome. _

_Maugen Ra._


	14. Trouble on the road

_Well, by my standards, this is a very speedy update. I just had a lot of time on my hands at home (easter holidays) so I decided to write the next chapter. Its possibly my longest yet, though I think chapter 3 might have been slightly longer…_

_Riddleindisguise- As my only reviewer, you get a free splinter pistol, complete with ammunition! Just pick it up from our distributing office in Talon street, Commaragh. I really couldn't have them just fighting with bare fists now, could I?..._

_Oh, one personal gripe. My last chapter got 76 hits, but only 1 review. Come on people, just press the little purple button…_

Chapter 14

Khulan passed his hand over a small Geno-reader set into one wall of the armoury. With a pneumatic hiss, a small section of the wall slid away, exposing a small cavity, no more than four-foot square. Inside were half-a-dozen small grey boxes. The Dracon removed four of them and passed them to the men without a word. Cannis exchanged a bemused look with the others and popped the lid open. Resting inside was a sword; slightly curved like a scimitar, but there was something odd about it. The whole thing was completely silver and the surfaces seemed to be slowly flowing. It looked almost molten, but it kept its shape exactly and there was no heat. All the way along the haft were etched small black runes. He wondered what the frak it was. Only one way to find out.

Cannis reached down with a tentative hand and grasped the sword's hilt. Immediately, the area were he touched it seemed to simmer and dissolve into his hand, leaving faint grey lines all across his palm. A strange feeling of warmth and happiness suffused his entire being, and it appeared to be coming from the sword itself. It felt as though the sword was… _happy._ Like it needed a wielder. Cannis took a deep breath, and the sword in his hand vibrated in direct synchronisation. He looked up at the Eldar, confused beyond all belief. The Dracon caught his look and explained.

"It's a psi-sword. A gift to me, from one world that we decided to pass by on our raids. In fact, the inhabitants have actually formed a strong trading relationship with Commaragh." He saw the surprised look on the human's face. "What? We'd don't always raid every world that we find. These particular aliens actually earned a peace from us. They defended our scouts from capture by a band of Slanneshi cultists. Those swords become psychically linked with their wielders. They're sentient, and can actually guide themselves in a fight. Insanely useful. I don't have one, because Eldar tend to be very reluctant to let anyone near they're souls. You, on the other hand, seem to be having no problem with them."

Cannis realised that he was right. If he concentrated, he could actually _commune _with the sword in his hand. Not to the level of actual words, but more a perfectly synchronised arrangement of feelings and moods. He gave the sword a few practice swipes through the air, and was amazed at the feeling. The sword was feather-light, but perfectly balanced. It almost felt like an extension of his body. He turned to the others, and with a look at him they too plucked their swords from the cases. He watched in amusement as they went through the sensation of melding with their weapons, and grinned when the expressions on their faces showed that they had reached an understanding with their blades. It was a very strange experience.

The Dracon smiled and beckoned them over to another rack.

"These weapons are not as… exotic as the swords, but you will need them." He passed a small gauntlet to each of the men. Holding the psi-blade in his right hand, Cannis clipped the gauntlet around his left wrist. This would have been very difficult, had not the small magnetic strips on each surface locked the gauntlet securely onto his arm. Khulan explained.

"These are a personal invention. They are a variety of the incubi's tormentor helms, but mounted on your arm. They are basically splinter pistols, but controlled by mental impulses instead of a trigger mechanism. Simply point your hand at the target and crook your index finger. Now come on, we're going to be late."

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The thoughts that go through the head of an Eldar are fundamentally different to those of a human. The primary instinct within a human is survival, both of the individual and the species, and this makes them much easier to anticipate. Everything else is learnt during a humans life, but survival is always imperative.

An Eldar, on the other hand, has a different set of instincts. Survival is there as well, but an Eldar is also possessed by the urge to experiment, to seek out new and innovative ways of gratifying its desires. This is the primary flaw that led to the Fall, the instinct to constantly exceed limits, to climb the peaks of hedonistic release. Thus came about the Fall of the Eldar, and the birth of the Chaos God Slannesh. Thus, only in Eldar society do Hellions exist.

A hellion is an Eldar who has given in to the thrill and pleasure of speed. It is true that the Orks can become addicted to speed in much the same way, but the Eldar Hellions take their obsession one stage further. A Hellion will always be out and about, riding their distinctive skyboards in aerial jousts and ballistic manoeuvres, constantly pushing themselves to find new feats with which to impress their comrades. Deaths are common, for there are a lot safer things to do than ride an Anti-gravity skyboard several hundred feet in the air in Commaragh, but this is what the Hellions do. Except for the rare occasions were they are employed by a Lord to put their skills to another use: bloodletting.

Such an occasion had resulted in Succubus Firnolth and his band suspending their aerial combats for a few hours, while they waited for an opportunity to assassinate their targets. The mysterious stranger was paying them a lot of money to kill this group of Eldar, and the amount was more than enough to convince the Succubus to accept the contract. The money could be put towards having an artificer tweak their boards even further, for every Hellion takes great pride in their individual board, and no two are alike. If this circumstance ever arose, then the two riders would battle to the death to earn the right to the design.

Far below the pack, a sleek black transport was skimming along a busy boulevard, heading for the centre of the city. Firnolth checked the heraldry against the small illustration provided by their contractor, and found that it matched exactly. He gestured with one hand and, as one; the pack swooped down towards their prey.

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Khulan's skimmer was a very deadly looking craft. Long and sleek, but festooned with blades and chains. The four humans stood on a large main deck, while Khulan reclined in a chair at the front. The driver sat in an unusual looking chair at the back. Pollo liked the craft already. It embodied, to him, a weapon, something that should be on a battlefield. Then again, from what he'd seen of Commaragh thus far, it should be equally at home here. Still, he was uneasy. Over eighty years of bodyguard experience had bred into him a 'sixth sense' that told him when danger was about to strike. He had that feeling now. A sort of tingling that screamed "attack! You're being attacked!". Two lifetimes, thanks to an infusion of Juvent drugs, meant that he wasn't about to ignore the feeling now.

He scanned all around him, searching for the cause of his unease. In a way, the psi-blade in his hand contributed to this, as it was now sending him a feeling of extreme wariness. There was nothing to the right or left, and they were over twenty feet up in the air. That only left…

Pollo snapped his head upwards, just as a mind-numbing scream ripped through the air like a blade. Hellions. Eight of them, diving towards him faster than any bird. They carried large double handed glaives that appeared to have a built in rifle. The lead one, a large brute splattered with the blood of its kills, altered his course and let his blade swing out one handed. As soon as Pollo saw this, the intention became clear. The Eldar was going to plummet past the edge of the craft and allow the trailing blade to catch him in the face.

Pollo swept his psi-blade up to his right while diving to the left. As he had hopped, the Eldar had built up to much momentum to avoid the attack, and bisected himself from nose to groin on the tip of the bodyguard's blade. The two halves toppled towards the ground below, taking with them the blade and the board. But now the other riders had reached the craft.

From his prone position, Pollo saw Ship raise his gauntlet towards the sky and let rip a stream of splinter fire. His target swerved out the way, but Wheln pivoted on the ball of his right foot and neatly cut the rider in half. The two slapped their palms together and moved off.

Cannis had reacted to the sound in a completely different way to the rest of the men. Instead of trying to claim a kill, he'd thrown himself bodily into Khulan, keeping the startled Eldar close to the deck while two riders pulled out of their dives and sopped low over their heads and slashed down at their targets. The glaives pinged off of the metal deck.

Thwarted, the six surviving riders backed off, before swinging round for another charge. Cannis saw them coming, and decided on an innovative strategy. As one of his attackers banked round, he put one foot on the hand-rail and vaulted into space. His timing was immaculate, allowing him to bodily slam into the surprised Hellion and knock it off its perch. The Eldar fell twenty foot to the ground and burst. Now all Cannis had to do was figure out how to control his new possession before he met the same fate as its previous owner.

Khulan stared in amazement as the human Cannis threw himself out of the skimmer and actually survived. These mon-keigh were brave to the point of suicide. Then he recovered his senses enough to cross to the pintle mount and start fighting back. The craft was equipped with a Splinter Cannon, the larger cousin of the rifles carried by foot troops. He swivelled the weapon to bring it to bear on one of the Hellions. It was coming in low and fast, hoping to behead one of the humans as it swept past. He grinned at its look of sudden fear and pressed the firing stud. The gun spat out a huge torrent of razor-edged splinters and the rider simply fell apart in a red mist. Blood, severed bones and several organs spattered against the prow of the vessel as the driver gunned the engine. That's half of them down. The complete lack of any recoil allowed Khulan to lazily swivel the gun around, still firing, and chase a rider as he swooped along the wall of a building. The shards hacked large cavities from the solid concrete walls.

Unable to dodge, barely keeping ahead of the murderous rain of splinters, the Hellion was an easy target for Ship as he lashed out with the blade. The sentient metal parted the Eldar's flesh like water and it fell, shrieking, desperately trying to scoop its innards back in. Then it hit the building. There was a nasty grating sound.

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Firnolth screamed in rage. All but two of his pack were dead, and they hadn't even touched the target. The employer hadn't said anything about elite bodyguards. With a snarl, Firnolth looped over backwards and powered down towards the transport. He angled himself to keep out of the reach of the bodyguard's swords and shot like a bullet towards the driver's seat. With an almighty heave Firnolth hurled his glaive towards the driver before banking away. There was no way the Black Heart driver could avoid the attack, and once he was dead then the craft would dash itself to pieces on the ground. There was a meaty thump and a cry of pain. Firnolth swivelled around, but the Driver was completely unharmed. On the deck of the speeder, one of the humans was lying down, clutching at the glaive that transfixed it to the metal. It looked for all the world as though the mon-keigh had thrown himself in the way of the spear…

Which was when Cannis' discarded skyboard hit the succubus in the gut, pinioning him to the wall of the building like an insect. As the craft zoomed away, Firnolth saw the last two members of his pack pulling away from the attack. It made sense. The employer had only agreed to pay Firnolth the money, and now that the Succubus couldn't collect, they had no reason to continue the attack. He snarled at the ruddy sky.

Stuck to the wall and utterly helpless, it took a long time for Succubus Firnolth to die, as his own weight slowly dragged him down upon the prongs pinioning him to the wall. His vivisected remains were found by a pack of mandrakes the next day, who immediately started to feast. There had been precious little food recently.

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Cannis grunted in pain, slowly pulling the glaive out from the meat of his thigh. With one final, savage tug and a howl of pain he removed it and cast it over the edge of the skimmer. Already he could feel his flesh re-knitting itself, and he staggered to his feet and joined Khulan at the helm. Ahead of them lay the Black Heart citadel and their meeting with Asdrubal Vect.

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_O.K, that's it for a short while, as I'm going on a camp with the Air Cadets on Friday. As always, reviews are very welcome. Mabye I'll get more than one, eh?_

_Maugen Ra_


	15. Welcoming Commitee

Wayhey! Ten reviews! That's the highest amount for a single chapter so far.

_Ethan56- I know, and I will get round to editing the first chapter at some point._

_Quaker Nuts- Thanks, I should really proofread my chapters a little better._

_WedgePalmer- Thanks, I aim to please._

_Va1n-Knight- Thanks, I always did want to incorporate a group of drugged up spped freaks on flying skateboard-thingies. (evil grin)_

_Tau- Thanks, if you have any ideas for the future let me know._

_Riddleindisguise- So did I. Same reason as for Va1n-Knight._

_TheFallenHeart- Thanks, I don't usually write so fast. I'm glad to know the whole 'get inside their heads' idea worked._

_TheMindWarrior- And the DeathKorps sound just like the people I'd like the D.E to capture. Just kidding._

_Fruitcakesloveandpeace- Thanks for the offer, any ideas will be welcome._

_DeathKorps- Thanks, that aspect can get a bit confusing at times. I'll try._

_O.K, message for everyone. I'm a bit lost as to what to do after, say, the next couple of chapters. I have decided to choose the contents of the next few chapters based on reader requests. Unless they're completely retarded. So, anyone with a cool idea, just say so in a review and I'll see if I can work it in._

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Selin watched as the sleek craft drifted closer to the docking platform, trying its best to look harmless to the gaze of the dozen splinter cannon nests currently trained on its approach. As it drifted closer, Selin recognised the heraldry displayed on the prow and waved one hand towards the soldier next to him. The man twisted a small button on a control panel and the lights that studded the perimeter of the platform switched from a ruddy scarlet to a cool green, and the weapons nests resumed their constant scanning. In the back of his mind, Selin wondered why his brother had been summoned to the citadel. Well, he'd probably find out soon enough.

With one hand he checked over his uniform, making sure that he looked appropriate for the occasion. The ornate incubi armour was heavy, but Selin welcomed the extra protection it provided. You could never be too careful. He left the helm with its distinctive bone-white faceplate swinging from his belt, reasoning that he had no reason to hide from his brother's sight. He strode forwards, flanked by the two warriors normally responsible for docking craft. The intricate cloak of the master-of-the-guard billowed out behind him.

Cannis was very glad when the dozen or so guns trained on their craft swivelled back to a neutral position. He'd seen what a single splinter cannon had done to the Hellion, and he didn't relish the thought of twelve of them shooting at him. Twenty-four, actually, given that each of them was twin linked. That was enough firepower to drop a Squiggoth. Then again, given what he'd learned so far about the Eldar's paranoia, he supposed that such security arrangements were pretty standard for the leader of such a powerful 'Kabal'.

There were a trio of figures waiting for them on the docking platform. Two of them were familiar to Cannis from the web-gate chamber, the lithe warriors, but the third was a different thing all together. He was dressed in a full suit of armour, not a mesh suit like the warriors, but actual armour. Admittedly, it looked a lot more flexible than most armoured suits, but it was still clearly a lot more cumbersome than the mesh. While the warriors carried the familiar long-barrelled rifles, this elder wielded a huge glaive, the blade of which glowed faintly blue. At its waist hung an ornate helmet, fitted with a bone-white faceplate, and from its shoulders hung a large purple cloak. He looked like a bodyguard, doubtless to this 'Lord Vect'. Cannis wondered if this might be one of the mysterious 'incubi'.

It was his face that was the real surprise, though. It was slim and elven, similar to all Eldar, but there was no mistaking it. This stranger bore a very strong family resemblance to Khulan. This was going to get very interesting.

One of the humans was staring at him, Selin realised. That in itself was hardly unusual, most humans gawped at the incubi, but this one was different. Most of the humans he'd encountered had looked at him with a mixture of fear and awe, but this one looked as though he was sizing him up. It was quite an unsettling experience. He'd heard that Khulan had, in another fit of whimsy, decided to acquire some human servants, but these four did not look like servants. The way their eyes roamed over every inch of the surroundings, lingering on any weaponry, the way they held themselves, totally without fear or apprehension. These looked like bodyguards. The way that they held their weapons made it very obvious that they were competent fighters, and he wondered where they were from.

The impression was heightened when the craft docked and his brother disembarked, for the humans immediately flanked the dracon, two on each side. Definitely bodyguards, but there was still something different about them. With a start, Selin realised it. They did not look at Khulan with respect, but rather as though they _needed _him. They were not guarding their master, he realised, but rather their meal ticket. He grinned. They were exhibiting typical Eldar behaviour. This was something he'd have to ask Khulan about later.

He stepped forwards and embraced his brother in the style of commaragh: clasping hands and bowing their heads. No chance for an assassin to discretely slip a dagger into your side. Once that formality was dealt with he looked his brother straight in his eyes, his unspoken question bright and obvious.

"These are my house-carls." Khulan said, indicating the humans with a wave of his hands. To a man, the humans flinched at the title. Khulan noticed this and amended the statement. "Well, perhaps that's the wrong word. Indentured bodyguards might be a better term…"

Selin frowned slightly. Surely Khulan could not be serious? His brother caught the look and grinned.

"Surely you mean slaves, brother…"

"Oh no. Please, feel free to test them if you want, they're quite… formidable."

Selin noticed that a look passed between the humans at this, and they unanimously seemed to agree on something. Three of them stepped back, leaving one to take up a guard position facing Selin. Something occurred to the Incubi.

"They can understand us?"

Khulan frowned. "Something to do with the psi-swords, I would imagine."

Selin blinked. Psi-swords? He gave them psi-swords. Now that he looked at the human facing him, he could see that the sword was vibrating softly in time with his breathing. That sword alone would make him a formidable opponent, but still. Selin had to see what it was that Khulan saw in these humans. His brother could be called many things, but a fool was not one of them. He stepped forwards and brought up his glaive.

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The psi-sword in Pollo's hand vibrated softly, and the Necromundan felt himself shifting into 'fight-time', that curious sense of detachment that most good fighters felt just before a challenging match. Everything around him seemed to simultaneously speed up and slow down as he watched the Eldar step towards him. Thanks to the sword, he'd known what the two Eldar were talking about. The sword didn't translate exactly, but instead communicated the feelings of the two aliens as they talked.

Kinship. Welcome. Curiosity. Introduction. Surprise. Contempt. Challenge. Acceptance.

With the forewarning that the swords provided, the men had all realised what was transpiring in front of them. They'd unanimously chosen Poll to fight for them and he'd accepted. Now, he was wondering how wise that decision had been. The Incubi was obviously a vary skilled warrior and his choice of weapon made him even more so. The power-glaive gave the Incubi superior reach and swinging power, and also made it extremely difficult to disarm him. Pollo's only real advantage was his speed and agility, and it remained to be seen if the Eldar could match them in its armour.

As soon as the incubi began to bring its weapon up, Pollo attacked. He swung his sword round in a sweeping arc designed to distract his opponent. The incubi deflected the strike easily, the sentient metal and powered glaive ringing off each other with a sound like breaking glass. The Eldar did not divert his attention from Pollo. So much for that ruse. The glaive made a whooshing sound as it cut through the air, the incubi swinging upwards with it like a scythe in a move that would have cleanly bisected Pollo had it connected. He took a step back out of the arc and quickly stabbed forwards before his opponent could reverse the swing. His first mistake as the Eldar jerked forwards with the butt of the staff, catching him under the chin. Stars flashed before his eyes as he stepped backwards again.

Selin grinned. This human was smart and obviously a competent dueller, but it was obvious he had never faced an opponent with such an unusual weapon before. The duel considered for several minutes more until Selin decided to try a move he had personally designed and perfected. It was a move that could only really be used with the punisher and it was very difficult to counter. He slashed diagonally downwards, but at the last second turned the slash into a stab for the human's heart, twisting the blade as he did so. He'd used this several times before, and always the opponent had never prepared for such an unusual faint. The twisting blade made the strike almost impossible to deflect. He fully expected to spear the human just below the heart, a critical blow to the mon-keigh he'd heard.

But instead of trying to block the strike or move out of the way, this human hooked the tip of his sword on the punisher's blade and yanked forwards. The unexpected move caught Selin off guard and he overbalanced, stumbling forwards right into the swords arc. Surprisingly the human didn't try to behead him, instead bringing its elbow crashing down on the back of his neck. Selin fell flat on his face. Before he could move a foot was placed in the small of his back and something cold and sharp was pressed against his exposed neck. He sighed and pushed the punisher away, a sure sign of surrender.

Pollo smiled as he removed the blade from the defeated Eldar's neck. The incubi had been a very difficult opponent and the duel had been closer than it appeared. Pollo's sword arm was numb from the constant ringing impacts and had the fight gone on much longer he was sure he would have fumbled an essential block. He let his sword hang by his side and stepped backwards. The incubi climbed to its feet, a new respect in its eyes. With a polite gesture he beckoned the four humans and Khulan to follow him and set off into the tower.

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Khulan paced along behind his brother, feeling quietly pleased with the performance put on by the Human. Pollo, wasn't that his name? The only thing that confused him about the whole thing was how the humans had understood their conversation. He dropped back to walk alongside the human's obvious leader and asked. The Human frowned.

"The swords give us an impression of the person, like their mood or intentions. But we can't know what each exact word means."

Khulan nodded. That fitted in with what he knew about the psi-swords, but just a grasp of a persons intentions would not be enough for their duties. He clucked his tongue and Selin stopped walking. The dracon outlined the situation and Selin nodded. From within the folds of his cloak he produced four sets of personal translators. The little machines could be worn like an earpiece and incorporated a small microphone and speaker box. The humans would get a basic translation of anything said to them and could reply in Eldar via the microphone and speaker. He passed them to the humans and they immediately seemed to understand their purpose. With slightly mistrustful looks they slipped them on and started to test them out. Khulan watched just long enough to be sure that they worked and then walked on. It was unwise to keep Asdrubal Vect waiting.

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_Thanks again for the huge amount of reviews (by my standards anyway)I hope to have a similair amount of reviews for this chapter. In particular, comments on how I did describing the duel will be welcome._

_Maugen Ra_


	16. Standoff

_Ugh. History coursework is a bitch. I finally managed to get round to finishing this chapter. Ah well, at least it got done._

Death-Korps: That would be so cool, wouldn't it? But I've already decided on an ending. Pity.

Ravenor- I could probably work in a street brawl somewhere in the ending… Watch this space.

Quaker-nuts: Yeah, I'm having balance problems  and yes, your idea will be incorperated. Gotta have that in there, the whole 'Betrayal of the Species' idea is just too good to miss

Riddleindisguise- Thanks, I will.

Eristarisis- Thanks. Dark crusade is a cool game, but it doesn't feature the D.E. For more info, I'd recommend reading the third book of the Soul Drinkers trilogy. It's called (I think) Crimson Tears.

Extarius- Oh, O.K, I'll stop bitching . Thanks for the advice, I've now (finally) decided on how this story is going to end. Hmm 'writing organically'. Cool way to say 'making it up as I go along'.

Chapter 15 

The meeting hall was vast. Easily three hundred metres across, it was dominated by a giant horseshoe table in the centre, wrought from pale bone. Placed at intervals around the outside of the table were thirteen comfortable thrones, each adorned with a subtly different stylised crest. There was one feature common to them all, a centralised Black Heart. Set behind each of the miniature thrones was a collection of smaller, plainer chairs, obviously for the occupant's retainers and assistants. At the apex of the curve was set the largest and most ornate throne, inlaid with gold and precious jewels. The crest displayed on the headrest was the most simple of them all, a single ebony heart, trimmed with gold. This was the throne of Asdrubal Vect, master of the Black Heart.

A number of the other Dracons were already present by the time the party arrived at the meeting chamber. Selin ushered them to the seats just to the left of the main throne and departed, moving to stand behind the main throne. Khulan moved confidently to the frontal chair and sat, while the four humans remained standing. Cannis eyed the six Dracons already present warily. His spare hand drummed idly on the table surface, before withdrawing quickly at the texture. There is something about human bone that is instantly recognisable. Khulan caught his accusatory stares and explained.

"This table is symbolic of the power structure within the Kabal. At the apex sits lord Vect, and the captains sit at intervals around it. The closer you are to Vect, the more power you wield within the Kabal." Cannis noted that they were very close to the throne, and revised his opinion of Khulan's power. " I'm one of the second-in-commands, along with my opposite Arlith. There are two of us to prevent an opportunistic enemy from decapitating the command structure of the Kabal in a single stroke." He indicated the Dracon sitting across from them, a giant of an… alien, with powerful arms and an almost psychotic look in his eye. The Eldar caught his look and the two locked gazes. The alien was entirely blatant about his opinions, not even attempting to hide the contempt he felt for the human. Cannis grimaced.

"Over there are Sikth, master of the armoury, and Calisk, official liason with the wych cults" Khulan continued, indicating in turn a stocky, thick-set (for an Eldar) warrior and a lithe gladiator, both of whom looked ready to explode into action at a moments notice. "The two seats below me are occupied by my lieutenants, just as the opposite pair sit Arlith's. None of them are here yet." Cannis counted up the named Eldar and came to a total of eight, which left just four seats unclaimed. Khulan continued, "When they arrive, the master of vehicles will take that seat, facing our liaison with the mandrake cults, Siclith. The final two seats are held by whoever happens to be chief among the lower ranks at the moment." He caught Cannis' confused look, "That position is constantly changing, what with the raids, the assassinations and the like."

Cannis grimaced. It would seem that his initial impressions of the Eldar had been correct, if only the inhabitants of Commaragh. Their social hierarchy was fluid and ever changing, subject to the attentions of assassinations, convenient accidents and outright warfare. It actually appeared that these were the accepted and even approved method for advancement among all ranks of life. If he had to sum up the whole ethos of Commaragh into a single sentence, he knew what it would be. _Better you than me._

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The mandrake champion hung unobserved, attached to the inverted dome of the roof by virtue of several long knives. From here him could watch all of the activity below without ever being seen, and act only when it suited him. He gazed down at the assemblage, amused that he could take out the entire leadership of the most powerful Kabal in Commaragh without anyone ever knowing how. Over his long years of experience, the Decapitator had learned one salient fact. Regardless of species or gender, the prey never, ever, looked up. Well, not unless they knew you were there. He grinned, thin lips pulling back to reveal pale gums and a mouthful of serrated metal teeth. A few minutes more, then he would act.

He switched his gaze to the far end of the room as a large pair of double doors wrought from brass opened. In walked the master of the Black Heart. The Archon was clothed in tough, expensive plate armour usually only worn by the Incubi, and in his hand he carried an ancient weapon, one that dated back to before the Fall. It was a large staff, bedecked with eldritch sigils and small brass skulls. From one end protruded a series of wickedly sharp blades in a crescent shape, each capable of cleaving through the densest of armour. The over end contained a small energy weapon, capable of launching bolts of pure blackness at attackers, a smaller version of the infamous Dark Lance. But his eyes… his eyes were the worst of all. For the first time in so many years, an old emotion fluttered in the mandrakes breast. It took him a moment to identify it. It was _fear._

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The eyes. Cannis felt like they were drowning him. He was being swallowed up by two black pits, depths that contained tales of depravity, tales of death, of slaughter, of sheer, unadulterated _hatred._ For once though, it wasn't aimed at him. Icy water filled his stomach, and steel daggers pinioned his arms. Then the Archon looked away. It could have lasted only moments, but Cannis felt like he'd been under that gaze for _years. _Asdrubal Vect, Lord of the Black Heart, ruler of Commaragh, favoured of the warp, drinker of souls and saviour of the Dark Eldar,smiledCannis felt ill and glanced away. A face like that just did not fit a smile. He was partially gratified to see that the other humans looked just as unwell as he did, even Pollo's normally placid face twitching in involuntary reaction.

Vect's voice dragged him back. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard and it echoed in the cavernous hall. Cannis forced himself to look, and was immensely relieved to see that the Archon had donned a peaked helmet. Obviously his gaze had the same effect on everyone.

"My captains. My loyal warriors. You all know why we are here. A few hours ago, Siloth was murdered. While he was not a captain of significant importance, there were two things that concern me about the incident. Firstly, it occurred within his quarters on the eighteenth floor of this tower. Secondly, the Decapitators mark was on his body." He tossed a small scrap of skin into the centre of the table. Cannis only needed a brief glance to confirm his suspicions. It was an Eldar's skin, and carved onto it was a small D inside a stylised skull. The corners of his mouth tightened in distaste. The Archon carried on. "We have to locate the Decapitator and find out who hired him…"

"No need, lord." Cannis glanced sharply around. It was Pollo who had spoken, and he was staring straight upwards. The breach of protocol was ignored as every head in the room craned up to see what had caught the human's attention. The ceiling was in the form of an inverted dome, like a distended belly, presumably to thwart those who thought to scale it. So it was, of course, exactly the place the assassin had decided to hide. Nobody would search for you in a place that they believed impassable. The shadowy black shape detached itself from its perch and glided down, somehow making a twenty-foot plummet seem graceful. It landed smoothly and stayed in the crouch for a moment, before slowly unfolding, like a praying mantis. The form was like a living shadow: flowing like liquid and yet with a distinct sense of menace attached. Cannis knew in that moment that this was one of the most dangerous things he was ever likely to meet.

The arms unfolded from the body and Cannis blinked in surprise. For a moment he thought he was seeing things but no, the shadow really did have four arms. A xenos mutant? The very thought disgusted him. Bad enough that they were xenos, but this thing couldn't even stay true to the physiology of its race. He looked a little closer, and found that he could just make out several small stitches at two of the shoulders. Not a mutant, then, just an Eldar who'd received some 'modifications'. From within the depths of the shadow he could see two pitiless orbs, reflecting the light like fire. For a single, insane moment he thought he recognised the creature. His home-world, Hyrak, had several ancient myths and legends, created long ago. One of those told of the watcher in the dark, the Reaper who struck from shadows to snatch away the unwary on Dark nights. Most Hyrakans dismissed it as a fable, a bogeyman designed to terrify children into obedience. Now, Cannis wasn't so sure. This thing seemed to match all of the descriptions ever told about it, and Eldar were notoriously long-lived. It was perfectly possible that this creature had hunted on Hyrak in the past; it's nightly slayings giving rise to the legends.

It spoke, and Cannis was jolted from his reverie. To his shock the Decapitator was actually speaking to Khulan, in a voice like broken glass.

"You." It hissed, "You are Khulan." The odd accent dragged the word out, almost as though it tasted it. Khulan crossed his arms and nodded.

"I am. Why do you ask?" The Eldar warlord seemed nonchalant, as though being quizzed by a shadowy assassin was nothing new.

"Someone made an attempt on your life, two nights ago…" the mandrake hissed, again drawing out the final word. Khulan nodded again.

"Yes. A mandrake attempted to ambush me, and died. Again, Why?"

The decapitator hissed. "That was my protégé, Strelth… I do not like having my students killed, Khulan of the Black Heart…" The threat in the alien's words was obvious. As one, all four of the humans stepped forwards, drawing their blades. Cannis interposed himself between his… master… and the assassin, glaring straight into the glowering orbs. The Decapitator laughed, and it was a sound like granite, dark and hard.

"Ah, a human. I really thought you had standards, Khulan." It looked at Cannis, "So, mon-keigh, do you seek to challenge me? Have you not heard of my skill? Do you really think you can defeat me?"

Cannis smiled grimly. "I dislike having my meal-ticket threatened, Utinu en lokirim.," he drawled. The Mandrake smiled, and he flinched at the sight.

"Ah… A Hyraken… I haven't met one of your lot for a long time. Tell me, why do you care about him?"

Cannis frowned. "I don't. But seeing as it was me who killed your precious protégé…"

The Decapitator growled. "You?! You killed Streleth?"

"Yeah, me."

The mandrake seemed to consider this for a while. Cannis and his men kept perfectly still, all of their attention focussed upon their potential opponent. Pollo shot him an uneasy look that said: _are you sure about this._ Cannis replied with a bitten lip that called: _Well, if it doesn't work, we're all dead. _Eventually it seemed to come to some kind of decision. It looked directly at them.

"Streleth got himself killed on a contract. I cannot take revenge over his incompetence. You are free to go. But expect no mercy should I ever have excuse to kill you."

Before Cannis could so much as blink, the champion leaped. In the single bound it soared up to the ceiling, latching on to the dome and scurried away. Simultaneously, everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief. Vect stood up again.

"That's it then. Captain's return to your Quarters. The next meeting shall be in three day-cycles. There we shall decide what to do with regards to the impending raids. Dissmissed."

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_Finally. I've wanted to do this chapter for such a long time now. Oh, and thanks to all of you who contributed to the ideas pool. I now know exactly what the rest of the story is going to contain, and how I'm going to end it. _

_Until Next time_

_Maugen Ra_


	17. The hunt begins

_Well, I finally found the time to write this chapter up fully. Thanks to everyone who reviewed._

_Death-Korps I know, I kinda used other work that I'd read on genestealers to help describe his movements._

_Extarius- Thanks, ideas for a sequel are sort of floating round my head at the moment. I chose a gothic D for the calling card because I figured that he would chose a mark recognisable to Humans, them being the most numerous race in the galaxy. After all, he's more likely to become notorious if the humans can recognise his sign. And yes, he did assassinate the guy just to call a meeting. It's the only way that avoides all of the paperwork._

_Quaker-Nuts – Pie is good. Everybody likes pie. Unless they're crazy. And I have been reading fortune's soldier._

_Va1n-Knight – Oh, I plan to. A climax just isn't a climax without a bit of gore. Or, failing that, a lot of gore._

The Hunt Begins

Seen from orbit, Dalith VI was a paradise world. Its two main continents were bursting at the seams with all manner of valuable plant and animal life. Most of the medical supplies used in the surrounding sector originated from its lush jungles, along with a large variety of exotic foodstuffs enjoyed by the upper echelons of Imperial authority. Just below the sea beds lurked phenomenal deposits of raw promethium, the liquid essential in all manner of mechanical processes. The climate was universally warm; the rate of volcanic and seismic activity incredibly low, and it was located right in the middle of a regularly used warp-route. In short, Dalith VI had everything that the Imperium looked for in a colony world, and it was with minimal hesitation that the Adeptus Terra authorised a massive colonial effort, despatching over half a million eager colonists to the planets surface. They vanished within a few hours, every one of them. Worried about losing such a potentially valuable world, Sector Command re-routed two entire regiments of Catachan Jungle-fighters to Dalith. What they found there, while very pleasing for the Catachans, was very worrying for Sector Command. Dalith VI had looked like a paradise world. But then, from orbit, so had Catachan.

Cannis watched, with no small amount of vindictive joy, as the gigantic mosquito fried on the skimmer's alien version of a bug shield. He'd been on this planet for less than an hour, and already he had over a dozen large bite marks from those things. The flesh around the bites was turning grey, and he suspected that, had he still been truly human, the poison would have killed him by now. Hurt like a bastard too. Dalith VI was a death-world, populated with a huge variety of life-forms, each and every one of them inimical to human life. They ranged in size from the six-inch mosquitos that he'd just watched die, to gigantic super-predators the size of a Baneblade super-heavy tank. The place was so dangerous that the few Human cities had to be suspended half a mile above the floor and armed with enough weaponry to atomise a small city. It wouldn't help them though. They still had to venture outside the cities to harvest the valuable plants and animals. That was when they were vulnerable to attack. That was when the Dark Eldar would take them.

Khulan was standing in the prow of their skimmer, surveying the scene ahead of them. Pacing through the jungles below them, over a hundred men were searching for the valuable plants that gave purpose for human presence on this rock. Every other man was armed with some manner of weapon, ranging from las-guns to flamethrowers, while the others, the pickers, carried pistols slung in bandoliers across their chest. They were wary and experienced, and very heavily armed. They were as good as dead. Or worse, given the nature of what was hunting them.

From his perch, Khulan could just about make out the indistinct shadows that signalled the presence of the other transports, hidden behind their shadow-fields. There were a dozen of them, each loaded with a full squad of warriors, and they were on Dalith to secure fresh slaves for the slave-pens of Commaragh. Death-worlders were very valuable, as they tended to be far more determined and resilient than other breeds. He nodded to himself, and depressed a small rune on the command lectern, activating the intercom.

"All teams, these ones will do for a start. Try to take as many of them alive as you can. I have a quota to fill."

Flickers of movement revealed where the other raiders had begun to descend. Khulan looked back at the four mon-keigh with him and nodded. They got to their feet, unsheathing their weapons and checking their guns. With them were Selin and four members of his Incubi command. This was the command skimmer, and thus was expected to participate in this raid as well, instead of simply sitting back while the others fought. Although there was no real problem with doing that, Khulan knew that he had to participate lest another captain get too big for his boots. Besides, he'd been confined to Commaragh for too long. It would feel good to kill again.

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The attack announced itself with a sound like the whirring of a million drills as the pintle mounts on the raiders opened fire. Streams of fire sliced through the foliage and a score of humans fell apart in a haze of blood. The remainder reacted quickly, to their credit, dropping to their knees and opening fire. Flickers of ruby-red laser fire arced up at the attackers, but the hulls of the transports were impervious to such attacks as they sailed past on faint contrails of jet wash. At the end of the first pass the craft dipped lower, some to head height, and lithely dark shapes dropped from them, landing in the midst of their prey. Aboard the lead skimmer, Cannis turned to the other men.

"Don't hesitate to kill. Compared with capture, their deaths will be a mercy."

He studied his comrade's faces, noting the steely determination on each one, knowing that he probably had the same expression. The quicksilver sword in his hand shivered in anticipation and he grimaced. No matter what he told himself, no matter what he said to rationalise this, it was still a betrayal of his species. Part of the reason he'd gone along with this was because he would still be killing aliens, but now he didn't even have that. The skimmer dipped low, and he hurled himself over the side.

He was already firing as he landed, slivers of crystal embedding themselves in the forearm of a man with a flamethrower. He convulsed, and the jet of flame originally aimed at the descending eldar instead crisped a sapling. Cannis whirled, ignoring the helpless man, and surveyed the area. All throughout the area, lithe black forms were rapidly subduing the men, but he saw more than one go down to a flurry of laser-fire. Behind him, Khulan had landed and was promptly surrounded by the Incubi. His three compatriots were forming an outer perimeter, each remaining loosely around their meal-ticket while they hunted down threats.

Ahead of him, a small knot of Humans were taking aim at him, and he found himself staring down the barrels of five las-guns and a bolt-pistol. There was a second's pause as they realised his species, and then they opened fire. He assumed they'd seen him take down the flamer and decided that he was a threat. Every last muzzle lit up, and he threw himself sideways as the storm of rounds zipped past him. A small tree exploded, and he winced as slivers of bark dug into his leg. He hit the ground and rolled, coming to rest behind a fallen trunk. The old wood shook under the strain of multiple impacts and he knew he had just seconds before they chewed through his cover and started to chew through his flesh. But there was no other cover in sight, and if he made a break for it he'd be mown down.

Suddenly, the gunfire stopped. There was a surprised shout, a series of wet thuds and then one last, drawn-out scream. Cannis raised his head out over the rim and, when it didn't get shot off, stood up slowly. Where the six men had been, Alshin now stood. She was wearing her skimpy wych's costume and held a long dagger in each hand. She was covered in blood. It was splashed across her face and the surrounding foliage, and ran in rivulets down her pale flesh. The contrast was shocking. Her chest heaved up and down as she lowered her weapons, and in her eyes was only madness. To say that the men were dead was as much of an understatement as to say that a supernova was the end of a star's life. It conveyed nothing of the catastrophic violence involved. Small red chunks of meat lay strewn about, wrapped in scraps of cloth and linked by trails of blood. They had been spread over a wide area. A very wide area. He looked away, feeling sick. All around, the Eldar were rounding up the last of the Humans, stunning them with quick punches to the head and then dragging them aboard the Raiders, which were now coming down to land. Cannis sighed. He knew the fate that awaited those poor devils.

As he clambered back on the ship, he was surprised to see that about ten of the captives lay trussed up on the deck near the rear. He supposed that they were going to be transporting them until a dedicated slave-ship arrived. With a sigh, he went over to join his men at the back, all of whom were busy cleaning blood off of their weapons. He virtually collapsed next to them, feeling wretched. Regardless of whether he'd actually killed anyone, he'd aided alien pirates to enslave citizens of the Imperium. He was damned, and there was nothing anyone could do to save him.

There was a moan from one of the captives at his feet, and he looked down to see that one man was awake. The boy could hardly have been more than eighteen, and his eyes were wild and panicked as they roved the ship. Cannis knew how he felt. He knew the legends that surrounded capture by the Dark Eldar, and he knew that the kid would be going through them in his head. Suddenly the eyes alighted on the Humans at the stern, and they widened in surprise. His mouth worked silently for a moment before he managed to speak.

"Please… Help me…" Cannis felt his heart sink down to his toes, and knew that his men would be feeling the same. This wasn't what he'd wanted, not by a long shot. He looked down at the kid, and silently shook his head. Without speaking, he turned sideways so that the kid could see the intricate black tattoos that ran down the side of his face. It took a few seconds for the kid to make sense of what he was seeing, and then the look in his eyes turned from hope into rage.

"Traitors…" he whispered. "Traitorous scum! You will be forever damned for this…."

Cannis sat back, closing his eyes.

"I know kid. I know."

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When Cannis awoke again from the light sleep he'd fallen in to, the raider had stopped and all of the new slaves had vanished. He walked to the front of the vessel, feeling sick, and gazed out. Ahead of them he could make out the twisted shape of one of the planets suspended cities, a mess of ceramite and plasteel held far above the ground by dozens of thick metal wires. On bridges hung between the various platforms he could see dozens of small black figures, men and women going about their day. To the left and right, hidden in the foliage and shrouded by what the Eldar called shadow fields, hung the angular shapes of dozens of raiders. His eyebrows raised as he realised that the Eldar planned to attack the entire city.

"Audacious plan." He muttered. Khulan was standing at the prow and at the sound of Cannis' voice, lowered the high-tech binoculars and looked over at him.

"You're more familiar with Human defence system layouts than I am, you take a look." Cannis took the binoculars and held them up to his eyes. He found that twisting a small knob on one side increased the magnification up to 25 times, and pressing a small rune on the top switched through spectrums. The Thermal view revealed the presence of several weapon emplacements, ranging from heavy bolters to plasma cannons, and from another spectrum he could see that the entire complex was protected by a powerful void-shield. He passed this information on to Khulan and was just about to lower the viewers when something caught his eye. It was standing on an upper balcony, surveying the city below. He recognised it instantly.

"Oh shit…" he muttered.

"What is it?"

Armoured in thick ceremite plating and carrying a large and blocky weapon, the sentry was about the most dangerous thing he had ever seen. Now that he knew what to look for, he quickly pinpointed at least another twenty of them, patrolling the city. He lowered the viewers and turned to face Khulan.

"They've brought in back-up. Adeptus Astartes. Space Marines."

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_Well, I finally got that chapter finished. Thanks again to all those who reviewed, and I now know that this story will be ending in another two chapters, if I get it right. See you next time._

_Maugen Ra_


	18. Attack

Khulan frowned. Space Marines. That added a whole new level to the game. He'd fought against space marines before, and they had always punished his forces. He had no doubt that the attack force could deal with a score of marines, but such a fight carried all the warning signs of a Pyrrhic victory. If he lost too many men to Marine bolters, then he wouldn't be able to fulfil the objectives and wouldn't take anywhere near enough slaves back with him. Such an event would be all the prompting his rivals were waiting for: a sign that the great Khulan wasn't all that powerful after all. In Commaragh, loss of reputation was effectively death.

Well, there was only one thing for it. If he couldn't avoid the marines, he'd just have to kill them. How best to go about such a task depended upon the Marine's allegiance, what was the Human word for it? Ah yes, the marines Chapter. Some types of marine were methodical and implacable, and others were ferocious butchers. He tapped the mon-keigh on the shoulder and took the binoculars from him. With deft twists of the controls he zoomed in on the upper balcony. Yes, there was the marine. Over seven foot tall and armoured in formidable power-armour, it was none-the-less difficult to make out. Its dark green armour blended in perfectly with the shadowy background, and the dull metal of its weapon looked like part of the wall. He focused on the blocky shoulder-guard, searching for the distinctive chapter symbol. Ah, there it was. A white shape, bold and direct. It took him a moment to figure out it's shape, but he recognised it instantly. A vertical sword, flanked by angel wings. He lowered the binoculars from his eyes and looked at the humans.

" What do you know about a chapter called the Dark Angels?"

888

Wheln felt all of the colour draining from his face. His limbs were shaking, and he fought to contain it, desperate not to show weakness in front of these alien Jackals. Even so… Space Marines! He couldn't fight Space Marines! Quite aside from their fearsome reputation, (they could reputedly shrug of las-shots like rain, and snap a man's back like a twig) to fight the Angels of the Emperor would be the final step towards heresy. To do such a thing would damn him eternally!

Still, what choice did he have? There was no way he could avoid fighting them in an attack (Space Marines would more than likely make a bee-line for the enemy leader, Khulan, and his bodyguards) and if they did there was no way to simply disable a Space Marine. The only way to stop a marine assault was to kill them all, and if the Legends were true that was about as likely as him speaking to the Emperor!

Wheln glanced sideways at his brother-in-law, noting the same expression on Ship's face. What in the name of all hell were they going to do now?

888

Pollo felt a smile start to spread it's way across his features. Space Marines… Now this was going to get interesting. Ever since he was a kid he'd idolised the Space Marines: They'd been an inspiration, examples of uncompromising ferocity and implacable faith. Like all children, Pollo had revered the Space Marines as a kid. Unlike other children, Pollo respected them not as the angels of the emperor, but as the ultimate warrior. And in the underhive of Necromunda, that sort of distinction meant everything.

And now he was going to fight them, those graceful angels of death. It was going to be the ultimate challenge, the ultimate test of his abilities as a warrior. Even so, he was unlikely to survive. But then, that wasn't the point, was it?

888

The attack began at sundown. As the great orange globe of Dalith's star dipped below the horizon, the jungle lit up with weapons fire. Thin beams of black energy slashed through the foliage, picking out enemy emplacements and weapons and blasting them apart in detonations of extreme violence. Dark Eldar rarely made use of such heavy weapons, preferring to travel light and fast, but even the most self-assured raider recognised that sometimes speed and skill would never be enough.

Sleekly dark shapes detached themselves from the jungle canopy, gliding slowly forwards towards the burning city. These were the infamous Ravagers, and each one mounted a full battery of Eldar Lance weaponry. Three of the shapes converged on the westernmost city tower, and used their eldritch weapons to slice straight through the tower's span. With a horrendous creaking noise, the top third of the tower pitched over and toppled from its perch, crashing to the jungle floor half a kilometre below. Hundreds died, but that was not the reason the Eldar had targeted it.

Suddenly bereft of the shield relay point that the top levels of the tower had contained, the powerful energy shield over the city lost cohesion. The power of a caged star suddenly found itself completely uncontrolled. Huge streams of energy lashed out from the primary relay at the cities heart, smashing apart dozens of smaller structures and setting dozens of raging fires throughout the inner districts before the stations tech-priests managed to cut the power.

The city was now reeling from the unexpected double-blow, and the pirates had a way inside.

888

Khulan's raider transport scythed into the city, following close on the tail of a full dozen hellion packs. Wheln winced at the sight of the sky-board riders, well remembering his previous encounters with them. The entire strike force was stabbing in towards the city's heart, leaping from their transports at opportunistic moments. From all around came the sound of screams, yells and weapons-fire, all set against a background sound of crackling flames. Cannis heard the snap-crack of las fire mixed in with the wailing shrieks of Eldar splinter weaponry, and hid his face in his hands. He knew what those weapons did to exposed flesh, and on each sound he winced, picturing the face of the dead assassin. He was at least partly responsible for this horror, he knew, and each scream and yell dug deep wounds in his soul.

Despite the utter surprise of the attack, the disaster of the shield relay, and the monstrous aspect of their opponents, the death-worlders of Dalith VI did not rout. They did not cower in their homes, nor run screaming through the burning streets. Instead, they rallied and took the fight to the attackers. Well organised teams of citizens broke into the various armouries secreted around town, armed themselves and set about defending their very way of life. Even so, they were hopelessly outclassed. Well, at least they were, until the Space Marines arrived.

888

They arrived in their armoured Rhino transports, crashing down the main street like the proverbial hammer of Retribution. There were only three APC's, but the very sight of them inspired the beleaguered citizens and drove them to even greater heights of fervour. The first Eldar they met were a group of wyches, led by Alshin. The transports barrelled down the street and smashed their way over several piles of rubble, snapping off bolter rounds from their pintle weapons, before skidding to a stop in a lose semi-circle. Alshin and her wyches were busy fighting off a counter-offensive mounted by two platoons of the PDF from the city spaceport, duelling with the soldiers through several burned out tenement buildings. Everyone stopped in shock as they took in the new arrivals. Then the carnage began.

The rear ramps of the transports slammed open, and a full score of Adeptus Astartes clattered out. With an almost machine-like efficiency, the gigantic figures slotted into a double file line in front of the transports, facing their enemies. The wyches, realising what was coming, abandoned their fight with the PDF and sprinted for the cover of the cover of the nearest tenement. All except Alshin, who realised the uselessness of such a tactic and dove forwards instead. One soldier tried to bar her way, swinging his rifle like a club, but Alshin ducked under the swing and kept running. Behind her, the front rank of Space Marines went into a crouch, raising their weapons towards the fleeing wyches. Then, they fired.

There was a long string of swishes as the self-propelled bolts fired, followed by a chorus of simultaneous shrieks as they left the barrels and sped through the air. Finally, there was a dull series of crumps as the bullets found their mark in alien flesh. Each and every fleeing wych staggered as one, a strangely comical sight, as the rounds all hit them in the back. What happened next was far from comical. The bolt's internal charges detonated, blasting apart the wyches at the midriff. Alien blood and guts sprayed over the square.

888

Khulan frowned as he listened to his comm-link. The Space Marines had been sighted making a strong counter-attack to the east. Alshin was right in their path. With a curse he opened up a general frequency and contacted everyone that he could.

"All squads, this is Khulan. Space Marines sighted at 02-15. Squads 3 to 7 converge on that point and engage. Everyone else, grab as many prisoners as you can and retreat. I need you alive. Khulan out."

He turned to the driver and gave the directions. The raider performed a tight turn and sped off towards the west. He turned to the mon-keigh.

"We're going in."


	19. Finale

_Well, I've finally worked this chapter in something I'm happy with. I might as well tell you all now that this is the Penultimate chapter; all that remains is to write an Epilogue. Now, onto the Reviews:_

_Eristarisis – Thanks, I'm glad you like it._

_Va1n-Knight – One word: Writers-block. (It's one if it's hyphenated!) I only posted the last chapter because I was afraid that if I didn't it might never get up._

_Kerosene12 – Thanks for the point. Part of my style is to incorporate things I like from other authors, and a lot of the time it's not intentional. If anybody has taken offence, or thinks they might, I apologise._

_Mimus corleone – Welcome! It's always nice to see new readers (except the git who reviews last time)._

_Oh, and I might as well mention this, even though it was posted last chapter:_

_Shellebearator – If I find out which of you gits posted this review, I will kill you. That is not Hyperbole._

Finale

Several deep bangs sounded on the metal hatchway, followed by a clattering as someone tried the doorknob. The door held fast. There was a muffled order in a harsh voice and several clattering sounds as the original man backed away.

A five second pause.

The door exploded inwards off its hinges, accompanied by a flash and clap as the krak grenades exploded. The light streaming in through the broken doorway was suddenly blocked by a large silhouette as a huge figure edged in, gun held warily in front of it. The figure was so broad it had to turn sideways to fit in through the door.

Enhanced eyes picked out every little detail in the shadows, scanning for any potential enemies. They found none. There was a faint crackle as the figure signalled the rest of its squad, before turning away.

Pollo dropped from the ceiling, his silver sword arcing down. The sentient metal bit deep into the Marines shoulder, contacting just at that point where shoulder pad met neckpiece, carving down through flesh until it hit bone. He landed in a crouch, and as a result survived the Marines backswing. Even so, the ceremite gauntlet of its other hand smashed into his head, throwing him back through the air. He impacted, hard, on an overturned bench. Somehow, his sword was still in his hand, the blade having ripped out of the marine as he flew. Stars swam before his eyes, but he could still just about make out the titanic shape of the Astartes as it raised its bolter in its one good hand.

Pollo rolled sideways, hearing the roar as the weapon fired.

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The second marine was pacing down the centre of the street when Wheln and Ship attacked. The only warning was a swishing sound as two xenos blades arced out from either side of the street, each gouging deep runnels in the arms. Suddenly unable to wield its weapons, the Marine charged headfirst towards Ship, who couldn't get out the way in time. The Marines Bulk gave it incredible momentum, smashing Ship to the floor.

Roaring in anger, the Marine was just about to drop on top of Ship when the point of Wheln's blade emerged from its throat. It sank slowly to the floor, unable to move it's arms or breath, and slowly died. Ship laid writing on the ground. At first guess, he reckoned at least two of his ribs were broken, which was never good news. He just about managed to raise his head enough to see over the marine's corpse.

"Shit"

The second Marine fired.

888

The square had become a battleground. Out of the original twenty Space Marines, ten were still in the area. The others had roared off in their Rhino towards the main part of the city, leaving their comrades to secure the area. Unfortunately for them, Khulan's reinforcements had chosen that moment to arrive. Now the eight surviving Marines were taking cover in the ground floor of one tenement, swapping fire with around thirty Eldar warriors on the other side of the square, which was itself decorated with the corpses of two marines and about five Eldar.

Khulan hated pitched battles, and this engagement showed every sign of becoming just that. The Marines were behaving with the exceptional skill and ability that was their trademark, hunkered down in the building and blasting away with their bolters. The booming weapons had rapidly created a kill zone to the fore of their position, and Khulan had already seen one of his men immolated by a flamer as he tried to move up. In short, the Astartes were occupying an excellent defensive position, and the Eldar could either continue to fight this losing battle or charge headlong into a kill-zone. Neither option was very appealing.

Khulan scratched his head, looking at the only one of his remaining bodyguards; the mon-keigh Cannis. The other three had melted into the surrounding area, trying to find a way around. He gave the human a quizzical look and pointed at the marines. Cannis obviously understood, for he risked a quick glance over the window ledge that they were using for cover and ran his tongue along his teeth. Khulan had long ago recognised that particular human indication of thought. The mon-keigh suddenly smiled before sprinting off. Khulan watched as the human entered an old stairwell, heading upwards.

He frowned as another of his warriors flopped to the ground, disembowelled by the explosive rounds, while the Eldar splinter fire continued to ping harmlessly off the Marine's power armour. Whatever the human was doing, he thought, he'd better finish it quick.

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Pollo rolled desperately as the bolter fire raked the ground behind him, hearing the series of small detonations as the rounds internal charges detonated. He had to close with the Astartes again, or all would be lost. With a sudden jerk, he reared up into the Marines sight and raised his left arm. The gauntlet spat a hail of splinter fire at the marine, all of which pinged off the heavy armour. Well, almost all. One shard managed to hit the left helmet lens and embed itself in the Marine's eye. Not a fatal wound by any means, but it still forced his opponent to flinch.

That was all the opportunity Pollo needed. He leapt forwards, feeling adrenalin course through his system as the implants took hold, and slashed at the warriors other eye with his sword. The blade missed as the Marine spun to one side, but Pollo had never expected it to hit. The real sting was in his left hand, with which he managed to tap the marine on the back as he flew past. He hit the floor and rolled back into cover, almost feeling the gun-sight as it tracked him.

The Marine paused for a second, almost surprised at the pathetic nature of the attack. Then the magnetic grenade Pollo had clapped to its back detonated.

888

Wheln saw the second marine even as it aimed at Ship, and with a cry threw himself at it. He'd already killed one Astartes, and with a little luck could catch this one as well. Acting with a speed Wheln wouldn't have believed possible for such a bulky figure, the Marine spun on one foot so the bolter was pointing straight at him.

"Shit"

The bolt shell caught him in the chest, flipping him over in an awkward somersault. He felt his body armour go rigid, and had just enough time to wonder how long it was between impact and detonation of a bolter shell when the world went black.

Satisfied that Wheln was down, the Marine turned its attentions back to Ship.

888

Cannis cursed as he reached the roof of the Tenement. The sword in his hand had just emitted a surge of painful energy, and he felt an inexplicable sense of sadness. Somehow, the sword had sensed something bad happening several hundred metres away and told him about it. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he felt an overwhelming certainty that Ship and Wheln were just… gone.

He felt a small tear slide down his cheek, and wiped it away. The time for mourning would come later. Right now, he needed to take care of those Marines on the other side of the street. With a critical eye, he surveyed the edge of the building. The square was at least thirty metres wide, far too far for any man to jump.

But then, he wasn't a normal man, was he?

Cannis backed up to the far edge of the rooftop, brutally quashing the small voice in his head that was screaming '_This is Insanity!'_ With a deep breath, he started his run.

888

Khulan looked up, his mouth hanging open in shock. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Cannis, the human slave, was flying through the air about fifty feet above his head. The mon-keigh was leaping straight across the kill-zones the Marines had created. In fact, even the Astartes had stopped firing, stunned at the sheer insanity of this stunt.

The Dracon glanced across the square, measuring the distance and angles in his head. Any normal Human would be certain to fail, any Eldar in fact. However, he had no idea just how powerful Arquir's enhancements would have made Cannis. He looked at the arc of flight again. He just might make it…

888

The adrenaline roaring through his veins seemed to distort time, slowing it to a crawl. Cannis felt curiously detached, as though he was watching his own body as it reached the top of its arc and began to descend to the opposite roof, instead of actually being there. He noted with interest the way in which the Bolt-shells made warped tunnels in the air as they powered towards him, but the Marines hadn't aimed properly and they were going to miss him. The roof was only ten foot away now.

Six.

Three.

Zero.

The impact drove every last molecule of air from his body as he slammed roughly into the edge of the roof. Had his jump been even minutely less powerful he would have simply splatted against the wall. However, his landing spot was by no means secure, and he began to slid over the edge.

With a wild stab, Cannis lodged his blade into the concrete roof, wincing as the sudden anchor jerked his body around. With a grunt of effort, he swung himself up onto the roof. Looking down at the distant ground, he vowed to never, _ever,_ do something so colossally stupid again.

There was a clang as the roof access hatch swung open. A bareheaded Marine started to clamber up. In one metal gauntlet in clutched an enormous hammer.

"Oh, give me a fricking break!"

888

Pollo watched open mouthed as Cannis lept right across the square. He seen some pretty dumb things in his life, but that had to top the list. He was standing in one of the tenements to the left of the square, the ruptured corpse of the marine far behind. Well, except for one thing.

Pollo hefted the bolter that he'd liberated from the dead marine, spreading his legs wide to hold the weight. He lugged it up so it balanced on the windowsill that he'd been leaning on and peered down the sight.

Slowly, being careful not to drop it out the window, he panned the huge weapon round until it pointed at one of the marines sheltering down below. Their position offered them plenty of protecting from the Eldar, but Pollo's elevated position rendered their cover useless.

He double-checked the aim, and then pulled the trigger. The huge weapon bucked violently in his hands, but he'd been expecting this and held it steady. With a loud whoosh, the self-propelled bolt fired. It flew across the square and hit his target straight in the throat. Pollo mentally congratulated himself on such a good shot.

There was a pause, in which the Marine took a half step backwards in surprise, then the bolt's internal charge detonated. The explosion tore the Marines head off, sending it clear across the room. Blood jetted out of the stump of a neck as the body crashed to the floor. Pollo grinned.

"That's two."

There was a creak as the door behind him opened.

888

Cannis rolled to his feet, yanking his sword out of the ground, the quicksilver metal sliding smoothly from its resting place. He brought it up in a guard position as the Marine got to its feet.

The Astartes was huge, and on it's bare forehead glinted four silver studs. From what Cannis knew about Marine markings, the studs meant this one was an experienced veteran. The face itself, though, was the real surprise. Cannis had expected the odd puffiness, a by-product of genetic engineering, but it was the eyes that surprised him the most.

They were filled with an odd mix of aged experience and child-like fanaticism, a completely unnerving sight. However, from what he'd learnt, Marines were taken from their homes around fourteen, selected from the most vicious people of the most barbaric worlds, and crafted into the ultimate warriors. They never had a chance to grow up.

However, any shred of pity Cannis might have felt was obliterated as the Marine attacked. With a roar of rage, the Astartes swung the hammer around in a wide arc, and Cannis had to duck and roll sideways, coming dangerously close to the edge, to avoid the weapon. He frowned as he did so. The hammer was really huge, at least five foot in length, and that gave the Marine an incredible reach. Cannis would have normally considered himself a capable swordsman, but against a weapon like the hammer there would be no option of fancy twirls or parries. The hammer would simply batter his sword aside. This contest would come down to raw strength, and that was one area Cannis knew he couldn't tackle a Marine on.

Worse than that, Cannis could see arcs of power coruscating around the weapons head. That could only mean it was a thunder-hammer, and that meant that even the slightest tap would render him paralysed, as the power overloaded his nerves.

The marine tried for an overhead strike, bringing the hammer arcing down. Cannis dived out the way, feeling the floor quake as the hammer struck solid concrete. With a speed he hadn't known he possessed, Cannis rolled to his feet and counter-attacked. He lunged for the Astartes, sinking his quicksilver sword deep into its thigh. The marine roared and tried to swat him aside, but Cannis was not about to be caught out now.

He yanked the blade out and stabbed again, this time scoring a deep slice across the Marine's breastplate, before dancing back out of the way. The Astartes growled at him.

"Traitor. Heretic. Scum of the universe."

Cannis tried to ignore him but even so, the words bit deep. He was, he knew. By trying to kill one of the Emperor's angels, he was effectively declaring his alliance to the xenos.

Cannis realised that the Marine was now between him and the edge. He was debating how to use this fact when he saw something that completely took his breath away. From the far side of the square, Pollo dived out the window, chased by a brilliant spear of yellow flame. As Cannis watched, the flame caught the necromundan, and the small, flailing figure fell towards the ground.

It was all the opening his opponent needed. The thunder-hammer arced up, and caught him full in the chest. It was even worse than the nerve-whip that the Eldar had employed, as waves of pain cascaded over his body. He was dimly aware of the sensation of flight, and then there was a sudden impact.

Everything went black.

888

_Wow. Cliff-hanger or what? As I said, this is the penultimate chapter to Dark City, I will now be focusing on my other stories. Thanks to any of you who choose to review._

_Maugen Ra._


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

Space. Cold, vast, and desolate. Utterly devoid of life. The only things that broke the monotony of the black expanse were the stars, those colossal nuclear furnaces that drifted throughout the void, even their titanic power reduced to tiny sparkles against the black shroud of the void.

The light from one particular star glinted off the prow of the prison ship, highlighting its jagged edges as it coasted through space, drifting towards the icy prison moon. Beneath its stark and uncaring visage were hundreds of souls, some the brittle and uncompromising lives of the Adeptus Arbites law hounds, fierce and relentless as they patrolled the ship, and others were the souls of their charges; the twisted, depraved minds of those convicts sentenced to death on the penal colony.

Four minds were different. Four minds bore neither the rigid discipline of the Arbites, nor the utter insanity of the inmates. These minds bore the scars of pain and suffering, of sights that no man should ever have to see. Yet, paradoxically, they also contained bonds of brotherhood and faith to rival that of any Space Marine. Currently, they also bore the dark tinges of men who were fully prepared to kill.

888

The flashlight on the end of the shotgun pierced the darkness, its harsh beam picking out every detail of the carnage ahead. Impassive behind its reflective visor, the Arbite advanced, sweeping its weapon back and forth as it scanned for targets. A stencilled white sign on the wall next to it declared this to be holding level J, yet another row of cast iron cells packed close together and stuffed with the scum of the universe. There were twenty different levels within this section of the ship, and fifty more sections like it in the rest of the vessel. Not a large craft, by Imperial standards, but plenty big enough to contain all manner of nooks and crannies for scum to hide in. All the other levels were working as normal, but not five minutes ago this level had been subjected to a depressingly familiar event: a breakout.

This was by no means unexpected, and the ship was well equipped to deal with such occurrences. The flashlight beam swam through the misty residue of the gas that had flooded the level, and in each of the cells the Arbite had seen the petrified corpses of those prisoners caught in the purge. The Arbites should have been safe enough, in their hermetically sealed outfits, yet the guards on this level had not reported in after the purge. Now, the investigators knew why.

The guards were dead, all six of them, fatally wounded by what must have been a large, blunt object. All of them were grouped around a single cell, the bars of which had been torn free. The Arbite frowned. Whatever had been contained in those cells, it had ripped off the bars and used them to beat half a dozen heavily armed guards to death. Surely only humans were on this voyage?

The Arbite went to consult its data-slate, bringing up the list of all the prisoners that had been contained in this cell. There were four of them, all from somewhere called Dalith IV, and all marked with the gold imperial eagle that denoted highest level security. The Arbite reached for its vox-link.

Something clattered down the length of the hallway and rolled to a stop at its feet.

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The dull crump of the grenade echoed weirdly throughout the twisted labyrinth of corridors. The shadowy figure looked up from its work, ducking into a side cavity as a procession of armoured feet thundered by. The figure cocked its head, listening, and then turned its attention back to the control console in front of it, and the bundles of wires hanging out of its rent sides. A few more slices did the trick, and a whole section of the ship suddenly descended into darkness.

The figure moved on, sub-consciously rubbing the massive burn marks that covered its hands.

Blood dripped from the three corpses as the final pair of escapees looked around the control room. None of the workers had managed to get off a warning, of that they were sure, and now they never would. The weapons in their grasp gleamed softly in the low light as the two prisoners checked that they were alone. One of them pitched a corpse out of the control seat and sat down, wincing as the bruises on its chest flashed in pain. He ran his fingers over the keyboard, entering the precise series of commands that would de-activate the ships turret defences. With another series of taps he opened all of the compartment doors separating the escapees from the escape-pod bays.

In the distance, sirens began to whoop.

888

The four figures met up in the pod bays, stepping carefully over the blasted corpses of the squad of Arbites guards. Normally they would all have felt remorse at killing imperial servants, but their own survival was paramount. Each of them nodded at the other and they all clambered inside one of the large escape-pods, casting nervous looks at the doorway. Even through the six inches of steel they could hear the sound of industrial cutters.

The last figure swung closed the hatch and stabbed down on the launch key. With a sickening sense of acceleration the pod shot out of the launch chamber and into the cold expanse of space. For a moment nothing happened, and then the pods retro engines kicked in, guiding the escapees to the nearest planet with a breathable atmosphere.

Secure in his seat, Pollo checked the guidance computer. The name of the target planet flashed up on screen and he grinned.

Necromunda.

888

_What, you didn't think they were actually dead, did you? Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed and offered advice as I finally managed to complete my first full story. Right, now where's that list?_

_Right. Thank you to all of the following: (deep breath)_

_Vain-Kn1ght, Eristarisis, WedgePalmer, Inquisitor Soarn, Mimus corleone, Kerosene12, DarkElf, Uriel Ventris, Quaker Nuts, W00sha, Jedi Master Sabbath, PlaugeXRoamer, Mala[chaos, Extartius, Death Korps, Riddleindisguise, Ravenor, Ethan56, Tau, Thefallenheart, The Mindwarrior, Fruitcakesofloveandpeace, Tankmaster, Changer of ways, Lasserith, Julian, verystrangest and finally ben._

_Also I would like to give special thanks to the following:_

_Extartius and Riddleindisguise for their constant support and sensible tips._

_Thefallenheart for his valued input and ideas. _

_Finally Eristarisis for his useful tips and support when this story looked like it was going to die._

_Thanks guys/girls/xenos_

_Maugen Ra_


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